


Be my time-bomb lover

by flora_tyronelle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A whole lot of studying, A whole lot of things happen, Alcohol, Anxiety, Depression, Friendship, Homophobia, James is a good boyfriend, Lily will kick all their asses, M/M, Marauders AU, Minor Character Death, Modern AU, Molly and Arthur own a pub, Peter is just Peter, Remus is just trying to deal, Self Harm, Shitty Family, Sirius Black is a flirtatious ass, Suicide mention, University AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-24 01:47:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 69,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8351533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flora_tyronelle/pseuds/flora_tyronelle
Summary: Sirius rocks his beautiful head back as though to regard Remus from a new angle. His eyes flash, then darken.
“Too damn right.”
 
Second year at university: bills, crushing workload, a fallen angel sat on the pavement at three in the morning... Remus can handle this. He can totally handle this.
(He absolutely cannot handle this)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for opening up this- frankly, I have no words to describe this. Comments, feedback, kudos are always greatly appreciated!
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: mention of alcohol.
> 
> A stranger on the pavement, or Remus Lupin is a Knight in Shining Armour.

The boy is a scrunched-up masterpiece, crumpled and listing on the damp grey curb. People pick their way around him; just another kid who’s had too much, who’s lost his friends, who’ll be nursing a brutal hangover when next he reaches consciousness. In the pale orange light from the flickering lamp on the opposite side of the road, his trembling hands look strangely iridescent. His sweat-stiffened hair is a new texture.

Only one person notices this.

Remus picks up a bottle of water from their dwindling supply, and communicates in three AM speak- a quick jerk of the head, a half-twist to his mouth- to Shivani that he’s going over to help the kid. _Kid. He’s not a kid. We’re all supposed to be adults here_. But the more Remus looks at him, the more he can see the lines of a lost child in the bow of his back, the scared defeat in the way his head droops. Most of the students they deal with are too far gone to look despairing: unless they’re crying all over the shop, but that’s normally the girls with frozen legs and back-stabbing friends who abandoned them two clubs ago. Not that Remus subscribes to gender stereotypes, or anything.

Jesus, he’s too tired for this. He had an essay in yesterday that kept him up until six thirty, and then he dragged himself to lectures, and now it’s three o clock in the morning of the next day and he still hasn’t gone to bed. At this point, his face is probably one big dark circle.

Regardless, the boy looks like he could use some help.

As Remus crosses the street, he gets a few of the usual jeers. It’s the hi-viz tabard: for some reason, drunk people find it hilarious.

“Don’t you want to be seen, mate?!”

“Look, it’s the fucking Christian Union!”

He’s used to it all now; water off a duck’s back. He was part of the Student Safety Walk team for an entire semester last year, and now it’s week five of the new term (the freshers rush is finally starting to wane) and Remus finds it easy to slip into the role of guide and helper and friendly face every Wednesday or Friday night as soon as he slides his arms into the flapping fluorescent gilet. Bottles of water. Coaxing out names, flat numbers, handing out tissues, fending off drunken embraces. The taxi companies know them all by name. People have called him a saint; people have called him a dickhead and far worse. And the Christian Union. That one never seems to go away. He smiles a wry smile, and crouches down beside the boy in black.

Now that he’s closer, Remus notices that the boy is wearing a formal shirt: black, buttoned up to the throat, collar folded down neatly. Nothing else about him is neat, though. The shirt itself stinks of alcohol, not one particular drink but just waves of the pure chemical, and one button is missing from his cuff. His hair is lank, crisp with drying sweat. His legs, encased in dark jeans and sharp looking shoes, splay out into the street, over the grill of a drain. Remus can’t see his face. He clears his throat.

“You alright, mate?”

The boy stirs, lifts his head blearily; like Remus’ attention is a torch beam and he’s trying to look beyond it.

“Who the fuck’re you?” He mumbles, squinting up.

Autopilot saves Remus Lupin’s fucking ass, because the rest of his brain has completely and utterly checked out.

 _Holy shit_.

His mouth might be going through their little spiel about Student Safety Walk but he can’t stop his eyes from raking the boy’s face, because, _fucking hell_. Remus appreciates that beauty is in the eye of the beholder and all that, but he never thought he’d see art come to life. That’s what this boy is, a painting made flesh. Then he realises that he’s finished talking and he’s being fucking stupid anyway. This is what thirty-something hours without sleep does to you, it makes you ridiculous.

Nevertheless, he doesn’t stop staring.

The boy watches him back, huge dark eyes somehow smudged in the flat light, a sheen of sweat gleaming on the bridge of his nose. Remus is waiting for him to say something, and that thought seems to occur to the boy, too. He draws in a visible breath.

“Mm’kay.” He sags a little bit on the pavement, but keeps staring at Remus.

“What’s your name?” Remus asks him, unthinkingly cracking open the bottle of water just to give his hands something to do and distract from the flush crawling up his neck.

There’s a brief pause. The boy’s eyes slide half-closed, and for a brief moment Remus wonders if he’s going to lose consciousness. But no, he scrunches up his hands on his thighs and seems to force himself back awake.

“Sirius.” The word drips from his mouth, slurred and distorted. That’s Remus’ excuse for getting it wrong, and he’s sticking to it.

“Yes, I am serious.” He explains patiently, and is taken aback when he gets a potent glare in return.

“ _Sirius_ ,” the boy repeats, then makes an expansive gesture with his right arm in the general direction of the sky, “Like… Like the fucking star, ‘kay?”

Remus’ face burns. “Sorry!” He fumbles for a minute, then repeats it to himself. “Sirius?”

For that, the boy gives him a lazy smile, and Remus nearly chokes.

_Christ, get a grip on yourself!_

He swallows; gives himself a mental shaking. “OK, Sirius, I think we need to get you home.”

Sirius rocks his beautiful head back as though to regard Remus from a new angle. His eyes flash, then darken.

“Too damn right.”

Those three words are said with just enough husk to make it very clear what he means. OK, Remus has been propositioned on Safety Walks before- but nobody else has made him feel as though his chest is about to catch fire, as though his heart has suddenly dropped to his stomach and decided to start beating there, instead.

But he has his training, and anyway he has some kind of moral framework which forbids sleeping with drunk-out-of-their-mind people who can barely say their own name, never mind give consent. So he gives a little shake of his head, to make things clear, and tries to physically force down his blush. “Where do you live? Can you tell me your address?”

A polite way to say, _Are you too fucked to remember?_ Remus isn’t sure with this one.

Sirius gives another crooked smile. “Worth a shot,” He murmurs, and Remus is struck with a sudden feeling of unease, but then Sirius is struggling to his feet, swaying and cussing under his breath. Remus scrambles upright, too. He’s been thrown up on before, and it’s not an experience he’s keen to repeat. “Do you feel sick?” He asks, but Sirius shakes his head.

“Just… Just needa minute.”

Now that he’s upright, Remus realises how tall he is. They’re almost of a height, although Remus is all limbs that only seem incidentally connected and Sirius, despite being wasted, is slim elegance proportioned. Remus briefly reflects that life isn’t fair.

Then Sirius looks up, and Remus sees, just for an instant, a face that looks completely crushed. The bare vulnerability of it makes his heart seize.

 _He looks so fucking sad_ , his overtaxed and overtired brain thinks- but then the moment’s gone and with a wince, Sirius’ expression is back to loose and sloppy and open under the streetlights.

“If you can remember your address, we’ll call you a cab.” Remus tells him, and remembers he’s still holding the bottle of water. “Here.” He holds it out.

Sirius looks from the bottle of water to Remus and back again. He seems to be on the brink of saying something, but nothing comes out. Instead, he just takes the bottle, fingers grazing against Remus’, and takes a swig.

“I live on Eberhardt Street,” The name obviously takes a while to dredge up, but he gets there. Remus isn’t familiar with it, but then again this is a big place. Students live all over.

“And is there someone there who can look in on you in the morning? A flatmate?” OK, that isn’t _strictly_ a necessary question, but Remus is concerned. It’s just a feeling, borne from a handful of impressions that stir uncomfortably in his memory, but there seems to be more to this drunken binge than just a good time gone awry.

“Are you volunteering?” Sirius asks, and it’s slow and slurred but Remus has to look away so he can’t see how much that makes him want to laugh. When he’s sure his face is under control, he looks back.

“No,” He says, as firmly as he can, and forces himself to let the subject drop, “Come on. Let’s call you a cab.”

Shivani rings it through whilst he stands next to Sirius, watching him drink the bottle of water. _Sirius_. Remus is no stranger to having an unusual name, but he likes the way this one feels when he says it. And it suits its owner. Black and white and burning a hole in the space around him.

 _Jesus fucking Christ. Go to bed already, you idiot_.

It doesn’t help that the steady stream of students on their way back home is full of girls, a lot of whom throw interested looks at the tilted figure dressed all in black, standing beside a trestle table and draining a water bottle dry. Remus had forgotten what it was like to feel jealous, and he doesn’t like to be reminded. He shifts from foot to foot and tries to look everywhere else.

Eventually, finally, a taxi pulls up at the rank, little yellow light glowing like a beacon, and Remus has an excuse to meet Sirius’ eyes again.

“Walk me to my carriage?” Sirius asks him, and Remus was _not_ expecting that. He rolls his eyes as a cover, and falls in beside Sirius’ slow, shambling steps across the pavement.

“You can settle up your fare at the Union tomorrow morning. _Don’t_ forget.” Remus tells him, and blesses kindly cab companies, as he does on every one of these nights.

“Maybe tomorrow afternoon?” Sirius offers, leaning against the side of the taxi as though he can’t be bothered to hold his own weight up.

“That’s acceptable.” A sudden thought occurs to Remus. “Have you got your keys?”

Sirius pats his back pocket, and pulls out a plain silver loop, on which jangle two blackened keys. _No keyrings_ , Remus thinks, to try and distract himself from the vague feeling of disappointment the sight provokes.

“OK.” He pulls the door open and looks expectantly at Sirius. “Try and drink some water when you get home.”

Another half-smile, a nod, and black-clad limbs fold themselves into the shadowy interior of the cab. Remus pushes the door shut and thanks the driver. As it pulls away, he can see the pale flash of Sirius’ face, peering out the back window. He means to raise his hand in farewell, but somehow, he doesn’t. Then the cab is around the corner, out of sight. Remus’ shoulders sag.

 _I’ll never see him again_.

He tries to be OK with that. Surprisingly, he finds that he can’t. He turns slowly, and walks back to the trestle table. The night isn’t over yet. There’s work to be done.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sleeping, and a bolt from the blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, chapter two! No warnings that I can see for this chapter, but if you notice something then let me know.
> 
> As always, comments, feedback, kudos are very very much appreciated!

Remus falls into bed sometime before dawn and sleeps for sixteen hours straight. The tricksy faculty gods who governed his timetable had apparently accepted his soul sacrifice of last year and granted him Thursdays off- so after his Tuesday all-nighter and Wednesday most-of-the-nighter he can sleep, blissfully sleep until an unspecified point on Thursday evening. No deadlines; no lectures; no seminars. Just hours and hours of peace. It will absolutely fuck up his sleeping pattern until the weekend, but so be it.

He comes to very gradually in the grey dark of his chilly room. Outside his window, a faint glow from the streetlights attempts to claw its way around the edge of the blinds. Somewhere down the street he can hear the thump of music. Deep in his bones, he feels the familiar ache of tired-beyond-tired, and he knows he won’t be back to normal until Sunday. Well, as normal as he ever gets. He shifts a little on the lumpy mattress and tucks the duvet more securely around his shoulders.

After an acceptable period of Just Lying There, he reaches for his phone, which he discarded on the floor last- night? Morning? He doesn’t really know. The screen tells him that it’s a little after midnight. Time to get up.

Their shoebox flat is freezing at this time of night, and it doesn’t surprise him when he finds Peter sat at the kitchen table shrouded from head to toe in a blanket, like a little monk, his face lit by the screen of his laptop. At the keyboard is Peter’s natural home.

“Hullo,” He says. Actually like that, as though he’s in a Famous Five novel. He’s done it for as long as Remus has known him. Remus raises a hand in reply- he’s not been out of bed long enough for speech.

They’d met in their Freshers’ week at a library induction tour. Peter, studying Electrical Engineering, was nervous and pasty and terrified of alcohol, clubbing and loud noises. Remus, in his first weeks of English Literature and History, had missed his course library induction. So there they were, wandering between the shelves and examining photocopiers and somehow, they struck up a conversation. From there, they’d sort of fallen into a friendship together. Peter seemed desperate for a friend, and Remus… Remus didn’t have anyone else, either. Well, until he’d met Lily, of course. Now, a year later, they were close enough to be happy in one another’s company, and happy enough to live in the same flat, occupy the same space, help one another out when they needed it. On Tuesday, it had been Peter who’d brought him coffee at one in the morning as he’d toiled away at his _Role of Empirical Ambitions and Autocracy in Britain’s Entry into the First World War_ assessed essay. On the other hand, Lily had programmed reminders into his calendar at two hour intervals, reminding him successively to work, eat, drink, powernap, and submit that fucking essay you fucker. Peter, a product of a strict Catholic upbringing, doesn’t really appreciate the satisfaction of cussing. That tickles something in Remus’ slowly awakening brain, and all of a sudden-

Safety walk-

The boy on the pavement-

 _Sirius_ -

Remus is very, very glad he’s bent over the sink at this point, filling the kettle, so Peter can’t see what emotional things his face might be doing. Again, the Catholic thing and the bisexual thing don’t really mesh too well. Remus gets by on the virtue of never mentioning it and, actually, never having needed to mention it- because he barely notices anyone nowadays. Until last night.

“There’s eggs in the fridge,” Peter tells him, as the kettle starts to rumble, and Remus manages a small grunt of acknowledgment as he shuffles over to their tiny, frosty fridge. He has always fried his eggs, sunny side up, and he stands over the pan as the white begins to bubble and crisp at the edges. It isn’t until he’s sat on the other rickety chair with a cup of black tea in one hand and a fork in the other that he manages to summon up any words.

“Thanks.” He swallows a scalding mouthful of tea, “Lily out?”

He’s trying desperately to distract himself from the memory of blurring dark eyes in orange light, of a slim torso enveloped in damp black fabric and a cologne of alcohol, of crinkled hair brushing the edges of a starched collar. Obviously, he’s failing- but you know. Got to take what you can get.

“Yes.” A slight current of disapproval runs through Peter’s voice, “With James.”

That explains it. Undoubtedly, Lily and this new boyfriend must be having rampant premarital sex at this point, disobeying God’s rule and all that shit. Remus personally doubts that’s true, but it’s not an argument he can face right now.

“Ah,” Is all he says, and then he diverts all his attention to his eggs. They sit in a silence only punctuated by the faint cling of cutlery against china and the rapid clatter of keys. Peter is terrible with words and even worse with exams, but he’s a genius with numbers and code. He can write a computer program in his sleep. It’s what he does for fun, to unwind: that, and church. Remus can’t imagine a less edifying prospect, but each to their own. The one time he tried to talk to Peter about the fascinating historical and cultural implications of First World War protest poetry, he literally fell asleep, straight out, on the soft chairs in the library where they were sat. Thank God he has Lily. Without her, he wouldn’t be able to talk about much at all.

She was the brilliant red-head in his history lectures (how the divine powers had rigged it so they chose all the same optionals, he’ll never know and he’ll never stop thanking them for doing so) who held up the class with her questions and seemed to get eighty percent without even trying. Remus had a raging crush on her from weeks three to five, until he’d been working in the Union and got a tap on the shoulder and a fierce whisper in his ear to overwhelm the music piping in through his headphones. He’d jumped about a foot in the air, of course, until he’d realised that Lily Evans was actually _talking_ to him, and the hours had slipped by as they discussed their work and somehow life and love and what a bitch depression was, and by the end of the night the glamour had slipped away and a rock-solid friendship had been born. Remus had built his second semester on that friendship, and now they lived together, a comfortable enough little trio. Sometimes (often), he wonders how he got so lucky.

When he finishes his eggs, he has reading to do, so he fetches his books and his duvet and makes a fairly comfortable nest on the cracked leather sofa, crammed into the corner of the kitchen. At two, Peter heads up to bed. In contrast, Remus is starting to hit his stride. In his head, it’s mid-morning: a good time to work, to read. He slips into the headspace of footnotes, haths and thous (he has his Shakespeare seminar tomorrow afternoon), jotting illegible scribbles into a black notebook resting on his knees. He doesn’t notice the time passing.

A sudden noise outside makes him start. The snick-click-clunk of the front door opening; a cluster of footsteps shuffling down the hall. He checks his phone: it’s three AM.

 _Twenty-four hours ago, I met Sirius_ , his treacherous brain whispers, and he doesn’t so much shush the reminder as smother it with a pillow.

Then he hears the noise of their front door opening. There’s no time to run and nowhere to hide: in a matter of seconds, Lily, bundled in a winter coat and a garish bobble hat that they’d bought in the German markets together last Christmas, tumbles through the door, followed by a tall guy with dark hair and round, hipster glasses. Remus, burrowed in his black and white striped duvet, blinks at them.

“Hey!” Lily whispers. She isn’t drunk, he knows what she looks like when she’s drunk. She just looks really… happy, “Is Peter in bed?”

“Yeah.” Remus’ voice comes out slightly cracked- it’s been hours since he’s spoken to anyone, apart to curse the vagueness of _certain_ historians who had forced him to go to the trouble of cross-referencing.

“Remus- this is James. James, this is Remus.” Lily gestures, a little awkwardly, as she begins to shrug her way out of her coat, and Remus focuses his attention on the boyfriend.

He’s tall and muscular, but built like a swimmer rather than a wrestler. Remus wonders if he has a hat in his pocket, because his black hair is standing out from his skull in all directions. “Nice to meet you,” James-the-tall-with-wild-hair says, and strides over with his hand outstretched. Remus takes it: warm, firm, dry.

“You too,” He replies, and is surprised to find he means it.

He had intended to escape to his room straight after that, but somehow Lily was making them all tea and James was sat on the other end of the sofa and, far from being stilted, the conversation flowed like water. Remus hadn’t expected to _like_ James Potter. He didn’t know much- well, anything about him, other than he studied Philosophy and was rolling in family money. He didn’t know that he’d been to boarding school and had been Head Boy in his final year, or that he captains a rugby team, or that he laughs at Remus’ dry humour, or that, when she isn’t looking, he looks at Lily like she’s the sun rising in the east. Remus approves of all of this. They talk until James and Lily’s voices become scratchy and Remus begins to get twitchy about Peter coming down to find them and the poor boy’s head exploding with the sinfulness of it all.

Finally, though, Lily and James sneak off to bed and Remus starts gathering his things for his two seminars. A few minutes later, and his phone lights up.

 **James Potter wants to be your friend on Facebook**.

An unexpected smile flickers across Remus’ face. He taps accept, finishes boxing up the leftover salmon for his lunch (Lily murders him if he doesn’t eat lunch) and slopes out of the door.

His seminars go pretty well. He manages to hold his own on Shakespeare, and for Chivalry and Subversion Dr Leitch is fairly lenient with him. He has done the reading, after all (in the five hours between the seminars, but still).

He’s just slipping out of the door when his phone lights up again.

 **James Potter mentioned you in a comment**.

He internally frowns in confusion. He’s only known the guy a day, what could be so important? He clicks on the notification. It takes him to a status, and as Remus reads it, he freezes in place.

**Sirius Black (16:05, Yesterday): to the knight in the hi-viz tabard, thanks for getting me home safe last night/this morning. anyone know the name of my saviour so I can thank him in person?**

**Marlene Mckinnon (Yesterday): karma for dropping us bbs. though this is v cute**

**Simon Deng (Yesterday): Well done mate**

**Averick Bode (Yesterday): what an idiot**

**Averick Bode (Yesterday): but was this the student safety peeps?**

**James Potter (Just now): *Remus Lupin*?**

Remus stands there, staring at his phone. His heart seems to be beating one thousand times per minute. He flashes back to their conversation this morning, discussing volunteering, and why Remus had spent the whole of Thursday asleep. He was not prepared for this. Some way, somehow, the universe has aligned their paths, twitched the angle of their orbits. He reels. He stares.

 _“Pleased to be of service, Sirius,”_ He wants to type.

 _“Hardly a knight,”_ He thinks.

 _“I haven’t stopped thinking about you_ ,” Burns through his nerve endings, twitching in the tips of his fingers.

Shakily, he thumbs the reply button.

**Remus Lupin (Just now): Yes**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW. How about that, huh...
> 
> Next chapter will be up as soon as I finish working on the one currently in progress!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Panic! If you're Remus. Exasperated! If you're Lily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: vague references to anxiety/panic attack and past depressive episodes.
> 
> Thank you so, so much to everyone who's stopped by, left feedback, kudos etc. It means a lot!

Remus turns his phone to vibrate and slides it into his back pocket- he doesn’t want to let go of the smooth edges, but he can’t stand here forever, waiting, cringing, hoping. His heart is still tripping too-fast in his chest and automatically he feels his lungs start to seize up.

No- don’t start- _don’t_ -

With a supreme effort, he drags himself back under control and starts walking, as fast as he can, heading for the exit. He desperately wants to be at home, where it’s safe, where he’s out of sight and he can hide and try to keep his rapidly accelerating mind contained within a familiar framework of surroundings and routines. He casts off all conscious thought; flicks on autopilot; bustling corridors; crisp autumn air; faces and bags and bike racks all pass by him without leaving an impression. When he’s finally home he drops his keys on the table and takes the stairs two at a time. Heating: on. Shower: on. The thundering sound of water has a soothing effect: it’s the knowledge that soon he can take refuge in the overwhelming sound and sensation of hot water on his skin. He takes a deep breath. Runs a hand into his hair, and grips. Another breath. Then he spins on his heel, takes five quick strides into his closet of a room, fishes his phone out with his thumb and forefinger and flings it onto the bed. Before he can look back, before he can so much as _glimpse_ , he whips back around, locks the bathroom door, strips and climbs into the shower.

The heat of the water makes him grit his teeth and tense his muscles, but it’s good, it’s cleansing, a relief. He slowly becomes accustomed to the temperature and relaxes into the spray. Everything comes back, but steadier, easier to place and work around.

_The knight in the hi-viz tabard_ \- that makes him grin.

_My saviour_ \- his heart tugs at that. How can _he_ possibly save anyone? He probably didn’t mean it like that, of course he didn’t.

And that girl, Marlene, her comment: was she a friend? A girlfriend? She seemed very casual if Sirius had ‘dropped’ her to go out, but some couples were like that. Remus reaches up and puts a hand across his sternum, a grounding gesture.

_Stop overthinking this. He just wants to say thank you_.

But again, he sees that hot flash in dark eyes and hears the rasp of three words in his ear.

_“Too damn right.”_

He groans, quietly, under the sound of the shower. This is all too confusing, too much, why couldn’t things have stayed the same? Easy, flat, manageable. Not like first year, when he was often in too many pieces to feel anything. But he can’t stop his treacherous heart from leaping, behaving like this is something to fucking celebrate.

_He’s just a drunk guy with a conscience. Well, a hungover guy, now_. Remus suddenly wonders if he remembered to pay his taxi fare.

_You could message him and ask_ , a small, snidely hopeful voice whispers. Remus shakes his head vigorously and starts to shampoo his hair.

_Nobody needs to get mixed up in my mess_ , that was his philosophy, and lord knows he’s enough of a mess right now.

He fucks that up as soon as he’s out of the shower. Lily is outside, arms folded across her chest, waiting for him. She knows the signs that he’s straying closer to the edge, and she actually cares enough to notice, and right now he can’t summon up the energy to push her away.

“Well?” She looks at him, demanding. They’ve done this enough times. The first time, if he hadn’t been so deep in the dark hole inside himself, he would probably have had a heart attack when she came barging into his hall of residence and banged on his door until he dragged himself off the bed. “Remus!” She’d exclaimed. “Where the fuck have you been? If you’ve been struggling then I’m here to help you, you fucking idiot.” He’d just gaped at her as she strode into the chaos of his room, and then he’d cringed, waiting for her to judge him, to castigate him, to make him feel as small and worthless as his brain told him he deserved. But all she’d done was pull the blinds to one side, and make scrambled eggs in the tiny shared kitchen. She’d watched him eat every bite, and then, slowly, painstakingly, they’d pieced his life back together.

How many times had she done that? He wasn’t sure, any more.

She was still looking at him, so he ushered her into his room and shut the door. It wouldn’t do for Peter to hear this.

“On Wednesday night- I met a guy. When I was working.” The words are sticky in his mouth, but he can get them out for Lily, “He was- pretty far gone. And…” Remus trails off, unable to explain what he felt, what had happened, where all the lines have intersected, where he’s silently, secretly praying they might take him, and how much all of this fucking terrifies him.

At that moment, his phone buzzes.

His reaction to the sound doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Take it _that’s_ important,” Lily says, and he can _hear_ her eyebrows raising. All he can do, though, is stare at the rectangular shape on the bedspread, still bearing the case she bought him that reads in big red letters, NERD. “Oh, for God’s sake, Remus,” She plucks the phone off the bed and holds it out to him. “Just read it, then try to talk to me.”

His hand grabs for the phone before he can stop himself. The screen glows when he wakes it up: hovering there is a little blue notification.

**Sirius Black replied to your comment on his post.**

And below that:

**Sirius Black wants to be your friend on Facebook.**

And below that:

**You have one new message request.**

Remus has to work hard to stop himself trembling. Half of him wants to slam in his lock code at lightning speed; the other wants to stay in this shivering soap bubble of a moment, iridescent and unstable and beautiful in it fragility, in its sheer possibility.

But no moment can be stretched out forever.

1-7-6-2.

Home screen: a picture he’d taken of a tree in the local park unfurling red leaves against a white sky. Artsy? Maybe. Pretentious? Definitely. Does he care? In this moment, not at all. The notifications hang in the top bar, tantalising him. He taps Facebook first. He has a little red two hanging from the world icon and a corresponding one from the shadowy silhouettes.

**Sirius Black liked your comment.**

**Sirius Black replied to your comment.**

Before he can back/freak out, he taps on the little line of text.

**Sirius Black (Just now):** thank you remus  <3

_He put a fucking heart emoji!_ His own version of the organ crows in triumph, and he stares at the three words and the little picture like it’s a map to buried treasure. Then he mentally shakes himself, likes the comment before he can think otherwise, and goes back to the main screen.

**Friend request** : Sirius Black

Remus hadn’t really noticed Sirius’ profile picture before. It’s a classic student shot, dimly lit in a bar Remus vaguely recognises- Sirius raising a pint glass in toast to whoever captured the picture. But no amount of shoddy camera work can detract from that bone structure, the way his eyes seem to catch and hold the light. It’s like seeing him for the first time all over again, and Remus briefly thinks that maybe it will always be this way, like a weirdly pleasurable punch in the gut. Then he realises that he’s probably been staring at the screen for an absurdly long time, and he presses the ‘Confirm’ option without a second thought.

And he’s finally left with the message, sent a few minutes ago. Again, there’s that feeling of not wanting to see it, of not wanting to ruin the hope of what it might contain; but Remus brushes it all aside. Resolutely, he opens it.

**Sirius** : hello, remus

nice to put a name to such a gorgeous face

 

For a moment, Remus is suspended in some strange miniature time warp. Then helium seems to explode, whoosh! In his chest, and he’s floating and giddy and shocked to hell because the words are chasing themselves around in his head and they make him want to scream like a five year old.

“Fuck me,” He mutters, trying to vent some of the feeling in words, and then realises that he really should have chosen a better phrase. He can feel his neck flaring red, and all of a sudden he can feel Lily’s stare, too. He glances up to see her sat on the bed, watching him with an expression that tells him if he doesn’t tell her everything, right now, she’s going to do something drastic.

And then, just to completely overload him because the universe seems to enjoy doing that to him sometimes, his phone buzzes _again_ in his hand. He looks down to read:

**Sirius** : and wouldn’t mind a do-over of that first impression cause I don’t think you’re supposed to meet saints when you’re drunk out of your mind

Remus gives up. He wordlessly holds the phone out to Lily, unable to even _consider_ trying to explain that his entire world seems to have tilted on a critical axis and everything- his mental state, his perspective, his heart- is rising up into the air.

She takes it from him, and has the whole thing read in about five seconds.

“ _This_ is the guy you rescued on Wednesday?!”

Remus tugs his hands nervously through his hair, considering explaining that he didn’t _rescue_ Sirius, he was just doing his job- and then decides it’s not worth the effort, and nods.

“Remus- I hate to say this, because it makes me sound like an asshole- but that is _serious_ game.” Lily lets out an incredulous giggle, “You poor bi baby! No wonder you look like you’ve been struck by lightning!”

“Lily, this is not what I would term ‘helping’,” Remus chastises her vaguely, now rubbing the back of his neck.

“You don’t need my help,” She holds the phone out towards him. “I’m serious. Just talk to the guy. It’s not hard.”

She gets a Look for that, and she relents a little.

“OK, it is hard. But if it feels right, then it’s worth going through a little bit of…” She gestures, unable to find a word, then fixes him with a stare. “ _Does_ it feel right?” Her eyes flash green in the light from the window behind him.

Remus drags a lungful of air in through his nose, and thinks.

“It feels _too_ right,” He finally says, exhaling through the words, through his admission. He knows Lily can hear the rest without him having to say it aloud: the _“I’m scared,”_ and the _“I’m not ready_ ,” and all the other screaming demons in his brain that amount to “ _I’m going to irretrievably fuck this up just like everything else.”_

Not to mention the fact that he’d only met the guy yesterday. At least, it feels like yesterday to Remus.

On his bed, Lily sighs.

“It feels like that with James, too.” She confesses, and he looks sharply at her. She has one strand of auburn hair wound around her finger and she plays with it absent-mindedly, staring at an uneventful spot on the wall, “Like it’s… too much, but in a good way?” A half-shrug, a laugh. “Look, Christ knows I’m not an expert in romance. But- fuck, this is cliché!- Follow your heart, Remus!” The last she says as though she’s doing a dramatic rendition at Shakespeare in the Park, and it makes him smile, even as his heart leaps faster at her words.

“I don’t know if I can,” He tells her, and that’s the honest truth.

Lily answers him like it’s the simplest thing in the world; that’s her way, when he’s spiralling, to make things seem obvious and logical even when his mind wants to scream that they’re not.

“You can. Baby steps. One word at a time.”

_One word at a time_.

She makes it sound so easy.

Unbidden, a memory flares behind his eyes: a dark street; a pale face peering through a cab window; the sinking, falling sensation as the taillights slid around the corner.

He reaches out for the phone.

 

**Remus** : hello Sirius

Are you free on Saturday afternoon?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sirius Black will be back... In the next chapter, which should be posted later on this week.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius Black is a flirtatious ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry! I said I'd post this yesterday but life kind of got in the way. I hope you enjoy, though! The feedback this fic has been getting is still unbelievable to me: thank you!!
> 
> I don't think there are any warnings for this chapter, but if you notice something then let me know.

Remus is bouncing his leg. He’s only bouncing his leg because if he wasn’t doing that then he would be drumming his fingers, and although this is technically the library foyer he still thinks he might be stabbed for doing anything louder than breathing. Although, when he glances up at the clock for the fortieth or fiftieth time, he thinks that might actually be preferable to the agony he’s going through right now. _Goddamn it_. Why does he have to be such an idiot?

He could take out his phone and check that he specified the correct time and place, that he didn’t just dream up the entire conversation, but he has it all memorised anyway: what would be the point?

**Yesterday at 16:57**

**Remus** : hello Sirius

Are you free on Saturday afternoon?

**Sirius** : for you darling, any time

we should go to the sisters

**Remus** : not my scene

**Sirius** : are you the kind of person who hangs out in the library listening to indie music?

**Remus** : Yes

**Sirius** : just my type

I’ll see you at three in the flitwick library foyer

**Remus** : I look forward to it

And that had been it. It hadn’t been until, oh, maybe, thirty seconds after he’d sent the last message that doubts had started to gnaw at him. No, gnawing is too passive a word, it implies a steady, incessant grind; Remus’ doubts have torn at him night and day until he’s embattled and shivering in any certainty that he might once have entertained about this whole enterprise. And now it’s seven minutes past three in the airy silence of the Flitwick Library foyer and Remus is beginning to know, deep in his bones, that Sirius isn’t coming.

It’s obvious, really, now that he thinks about it. The concept of Sirius liking him enough to come here; no, liking him full stop, is ludicrous. He, Remus, is a mess. That’s clearly as obvious to everyone else as it is to himself, and nobody wants a mess. Nobody can love a mess.

Unfortunately, this irrefutable logic doesn’t prevent his heart sliding slowly down inside his chest, leaving a trail of bitter, aching disappointment.

_I can’t stay here_ , he thinks, and with slightly shaking hands he slides his laptop into his rucksack, pushes his phone deeper into his pocket, and stands up. He can’t face going outside, not yet, so instead he turns deeper into the building, making for the stairs. He just wants a place to hide.

“Remus! Hey, Remus!”

A voice reaches out from the space behind him and all of a sudden the blood is rushing in his ears and his head has jerked back to look, no, _stare_.

_There he is_.

Sirius fucking Black is sauntering across the library wearing Doc Martins and ripped jeans and his hair artfully tousled, and right now he’s pulling a face of almost-contrition. Whether it’s meant for the students around him who are shooting him venomous glares or for him, Remus neither knows nor cares. He can’t quite figure out if his heart has stopped, or is simply going too fast for him to register.

“Sorry I’m late,” Sirius says, when there’s maybe three feet separating them. One of the girls at a nearby table actually hisses, and Sirius raises his eyebrows and lowers his voice at the same time. “Is there anywhere we can talk in here? I assume that’s what you planned to do, right? Because if you don’t want to talk, I can think of so many things I’d _much_ rather be doing with you.”

Remus’ entire head bursts into flames- at least that’s what it feels like. Sirius, the little bastard, grins, and Remus has to roll his eyes to try and shut him up, even though he’s not saying anything.

“Come on,” He manages to mutter, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and taking the stairs two at a nervous time.

He is viscerally aware of Sirius at his side as they pass gaggles of students in the stairwell. It’s as though every nerve ending in his body is screaming, _He’s here! Look at him! He came!_ Remus does his level best to ignore them.

“Where are we going?” Sirius asks him, and Remus internally jumps six feet in the air. Some miracle prevents this translating into physical reality, and he manages to catch a glimpse of Sirius’ expression: amused, a little playful.

“It’s a surprise,” He replies, brusquely, and carries on climbing.

“I’m intrigued,” Sirius mutters, but doesn’t ask any more questions as they gain the third floor.

Remus knows every inch of the Flitwick Library. He practically lived in here over exam periods, and the days when he had essays due, or when he was just frightened of slipping too far inside his own head. When it was the latter, he had one place he liked to go- he’d never encountered anyone there before, and in his mind that made it his place, his small corner of peace. Why he’s been seized with the urge to take Sirius there, he doesn’t know. But it’s too late to back out now.

By the time they reach the fifth floor they are both breathing hard, but Remus doesn’t slow down as he turns off into the aisles and aisles of shelving. One, two, three, four, five, six rows down, then he takes a right. They trek down the silent corridor, just big enough for one person to pass through, until they reach the outer wall and Remus stops. Because there, tucked in a tiny alcove underneath a window, is a big, squashy, orange armchair.

“Take a seat,” He says, and steps back to let Sirius past him. The way the other boy brushes up against Remus’ chest doesn’t seem entirely coincidental, in Remus’ inexpert opinion. Regardless, he gracefully folds himself into the chair and smiles a smile that Remus can only describe as ‘wicked’.

“Aren’t you going to join me?”

Remus stares hard at the floor, and before he can stop himself, he mutters, “Has anyone ever told you that you’re very forward? No. I’m sitting here, on the floor.” To prove his point, he drops onto the weirdly patterned brown and blue carpet. The stylish refurbs of the lower levels haven’t quite made it up here yet.

“Constantly,” Sirius smirks through the word, “I know what I want.”

Remus can feel his face flaring red, again, but there’s also the jangling of cognitive dissonance in the back of his mind. How could Sirius possibly want _him_?

“So, what are we going to do, then?” The boy in question nudges Remus’ knee with the toe of his shoe.

Remus crosses his legs, sets his backpack carefully against the shelving.

“Talk,” He finally answers.

“I suppose you want to know the boring stuff about me,” Sirius shoots back, jutting his jaw slightly in a way that does wonderful things for his bone structure (Remus suspects he’s doing it on purpose), “Course, age, whether I put butter on my toast.” There seems to be a faint hint of a challenge flickering in his eyes.

“I don’t think that’s boring,” Remus says without thinking, and in that moment it seems like probably the most stupid thing he’s ever said because he really, really means it. He doesn’t just turn red this time, he actually _blushes_ and swiftly ducks his head.

“Who would have thought…” And is it Remus’ imagination, or has Sirius’ voice gone a little softer? “You’re quite the charmer, aren’t you?” There’s the sounds of cushions shifting and the slight creak of the frame. Remus blinks and looks up: Sirius has his right leg crossed over left, his head leaning against the high back of the chair.

“So,” Remus swallows, _I can do this, I can do this_ , “Do you put butter on your toast?”

They talk. And they talk, and they talk. After half an hour of Sirius’ blatant flirting, Remus finds it easy enough to laugh at him whenever he says something particularly suggestive: and that means he laughs a _lot_. And Sirius laughs, too, whenever Remus deadpans or turns up the dial on his sarcasm. Remus is utterly fucking floored by the way he laughs.

Everything about Sirius is unfair. His hair, his cheekbones, the angles his limbs sketch in the framework of the rickety armchair, his sense of humour, his confidence… God, Remus is _very_ far gone by this point. He barely registers the darkening sky outside. It’s only when he peers through the window (his neck and back are just too stiff to stay sat down any longer) that he realises the streetlights are on. He checks his phone.

“Christ, what time is it?” Sirius asks, stretching in the chair.

“Six,” Remus replies, resolutely ignoring the message from Lily which will undoubtedly be egging him on for his ‘date’.

“God, I need food.” Sirius springs upright as Remus turns to look at him. “I’ll bring you something back, yeah?”

Remus blinks, and can feel his brow furrowing. For a moment there, he’d thought that meant their… whatever-it-was had come to an end, but apparently not. Sirius smiles on one side of his mouth. “Any allergies, Moony?”

“Nothing with cheese.” Remus answers automatically, because he’s busy dealing with his heart palpitating violently at the casual use of a nickname.

“Noted.” Sirius grins and then spins around and marches off down the narrow alleyway of shelving. Remus watches him until he’s out of sight, and then immediately collapses into the armchair. His mind is reeling.

_Moony_. The name makes him smile, a silly, soft smile, and blush a little, too. It was his own fault, really. Sirius had noticed the background picture on his phone and asked if he could look through Remus’ gallery (“Because, as an Art History student, I have a professional interest, and I’m also fucking nosy”) and because there was nothing incriminating, or indeed, interesting, on his phone Remus had acquiesced. It was only when Sirius had it in his hands that Remus had been seized by a terrible fear that he might have made a mistake- but Sirius did only what he said he would do, and scrolled through Remus’ five hundred shots of trees in the park. Until he’d found something else.

“Ya amar?” He’d asked Remus, quirking his eyebrows, “What does that mean?” Remus had to work very hard on keeping his face straight and his reply casual.

“It’s actually pronounced “Ya Kamar”,” He’d replied, watching Sirius’ dark eyes. Remus Lupin did have a romantic streak, even if it was little-used and often denied, and when he’d come across the picture and inscription on his newsfeed, he’d saved it without a second thought. He rubbed his index finger around his thumb. “It’s Arabic. Means ‘moon of my life’, or ‘my most beautiful’.” He immediately had to stare at the wall.

Sirius didn’t say anything for a long moment.

“I see,” He’d finally said, and handed the phone back; foolishly, Remus had thought that was the end of it. But as the conversation moved on, Sirius stopped calling him ‘Remus’ (which was annoying, because that _is_ his name) and ‘My knight’ (which was a blessing) and started using ‘Moony’. Remus couldn’t quite figure out _why_ , unless it was to make him turn as red as a beetroot every five sentences- and if that was the case it certainly worked.

_Moony_. Whatever the real reason, he can’t quite get rid of that smile.

Sirius comes back ten minutes later juggling two disposable cups, a punnet of grapes and two brown paper bags. Remus recognises the logo of a deli that is far too nice for him to afford from just down the road, and he internally raises an eyebrow. He’s not complaining, however. Sirius, on the other hand, actually raises an eyebrow.

“You’re in my chair,” He says, a smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth. Remus meets his eyes coolly.

“Finders keepers.”

Sirius sets the coffee down on a nearby shelf and leans in, closer and closer, until Remus’ heart is butterfly wings beating against glass and his mouth has gone dry.

“I could make you move,” Sirius murmurs, quietly. Remus can see the faint, fine lines that span out under his eyes, just above the lilac bruises that whisper of too little sleep. He’s not sure if he’s breathing. He feels like a mouse, held captive by a snake that has yet to decide if it’s friendly.

_He’s going to-_

_He’s not_ -

He doesn’t. Remus gets a fleeting glimpse of a bared-teeth grin, and then Sirius is gone from his space; and he’s relieved and disappointed in a rush of flickering emotion.

“But I guess I’ll let you win this time.” Sirius hands him the cup: a peace offering? Remus takes it and eyes him.

“Are you just lulling me into a false sense of security, though?” He muses, and takes a sip. Latte. Not what he’d have chosen, but it’s good. Sirius tilts his head this time when he smiles, and it changes the way it comes across, makes it seem more guarded, more bitter.

“How quickly you guess my wicked games,” He says, and now he doesn’t sit back down, just stays leaned against the shelving. Remus is hit with a visceral, extreme feeling that he’s suddenly fucked up very badly.

_Don’t leave I’m sorry I take it back whatever it was I’m sorry_ -

But he doesn’t know how to take it back. The silence pulls apart between them like the opposite of a vacuum: expanding, and Remus is terrified that it’s going to eclipse all that’s gone before.

“Sirius…”

“It’s been fun,” But nothing’s reaching those magnificent eyes any more, nothing’s touching them and making them hold the light from the inside, “This has been fun. But I have a… pressing engagement.” Sirius pushes himself away from the shelves, brushing away that last physical connection. “Maybe I’ll see you around, Remus,” He says, and, just like that, Sirius Black walks away from him. This time, he doesn’t look back.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the library and an unexpected phone call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: emotional shutdown and referencing anxiety attacks. As always, if you notice anything else then let me know.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's stuck with this so far! Comments, kudos, everything just makes my day.

Remus doesn’t run home. He doesn’t have a breakdown in the library. He calmly places his phone in the front pocket of his bag and checks his laptop is secure. He packs all the food away, too, because he can’t just leave it there. He lifts his backpack gently onto his shoulders and walks, deliberately putting one foot in front of the other, back across the fifth floor, back down the staircase, back out of the library into the cool evening air. He follows these internal directives mechanically, as though all of his living, breathing processes have been replaced with batteries and wiring. His neurons transmit binary, rather than emotions. A flat stream of black and white. Nothing more, nothing less.

_I just have to get home. Just have to get home to Lily. Lily will hold me together. Just have to get home_.

So that’s what he does.

 

_Snick-click-clunk_.

The tiny hallway; the heavy door into the dark kitchen; the table cluttered with bills and empty, tea-stained mugs. And a piece of paper, with a few neat words written across it.

_Messaged you to tell you this as well but you didn’t pick it up before I left? Going out with James, won’t be back until late. EAT SOMETHING. And don’t forget you have your notes to write! Love love love Lily x_

_She’s not here_ , he realises, and somehow he goes from as bad as it gets to worse, much worse, because _I can’t do this by myself, I can’t, I can’t_. He stands, frozen in the wan light, as everything flies out of control.

“Remus?” Footsteps. A small, pudgy hand touches his shoulder.

_Lily would take my backpack off_ , Remus thinks, and suddenly he wants to cry. He wants to cry and he wants to scream in frustration and anger and sheer fucking disappointment because he should have seen this coming, he should have known. He hangs his head and tries to force everything back down.

“I’ll- I’ll make you a cup of tea?” It’s a question, but Peter goes over to the kettle anyway. He doesn’t know about Remus’ _condition_ , not in the intimate, detailed way Lily does: but he must have a fair idea, and although it’s not the same it’s all Remus has right now. He has to take that, otherwise he’s going to fall to pieces.

_Stop being so bloody melodramatic. He was just a guy who thought you were good for fucking, then changed his mind_.

Remus scrubs a hand over his eyes and stumbles into a seat. He realises he’s still wearing his rucksack: he shrugs it off and lets it slide to the floor with a thunk. Then he stares at the bare wall until Peter sets a mug of steaming tea in front of him- that’s very _Peter_ , to think that tea will fix everything.

_“Even a broken heart_ ,” His mum’s voice whispers in his ear, and he clenches his fists at the same time as he realises he hasn’t called her for three days. He’s sent messages, but not called her. He should call her tomorrow. He will call her tomorrow.

That helps, to think of tomorrow as a concrete certainty that will exist.

_Come on Remus_ , Lily asks him, _what else are you going to do tomorrow?_

Laundry is the automatic and obvious answer- he has no clean jeans to wear. Maybe go to the park. Get some books out of the library- not Flitwick, but the specialist history library in the basement of the Hooch Building. Forget. Move on.

 The thought is painful, but cleansing, too, like pulling off a scab. _Forget. Move on_.

_After all, there was barely anything there in the first place_.

Remus picks up his mug and begins to drink his tea.

Hours and hours later, he still can’t sleep, but on the other hand he’s not picked up anything sharp or scalded himself under the shower or done anything more destructive than decide not to eat. On balance, he’s doing OK (oh yes, this is OK for him, my god he is well and truly fucked up). He refuses to think about why this has dropped him so deep, sent him spiralling so far backwards, and as long as he keeps that at bay he can manage. He sits in the kitchen with his laptop open, listening to an audiobook (How To Be A Pirate- yes, it’s childish, but it’s soothing and it makes him laugh) and waiting for Lily to come back. He can keep not thinking until then.

_Buzz. Buzz. Buzz_.

Remus suddenly remembers that he’d switched his phone to vibrate when he was in the library, waiting for- well, anyway, that’s his phone ringing. He fishes it cautiously out of his bag and regards the number with suspicion. He doesn’t recognise it- but it’s 03:48 in the morning. That’s not a cold call or a pocket dial. He swipes across to answer.

“Hello?”

“Hey, is that Remus?” The voice is male, and somehow familiar.

“Yes- who is this?”

“It’s James. James Potter? Look, I’m sorry to ring you like this- did I wake you up?”

Remus frowns at nothing in particular, trying to wrap his head around what’s going on. He answers, though.

“No.”

“Lily gave me your number-”

“Is she OK?” Remus interrupts, feeling a terrible lurch in his stomach.

“Yeah! Yeah, she’s fine, she’s back at my place- this isn’t about her.”

Remus’ frown deepens.

“Look-” James sighs, and Remus gets the feeling that he doesn’t want to say whatever he’s about to say, “- can I ask you a huge favour?”

_What_?

“I’m with Sirius-” Remus’ heart drops out through the floorboards at the name, “- he’s in a pretty bad way, and he’s asking for you, and he’s not the easiest when he’s pissed- I wouldn’t ask, except-”

Remus cannot believe what he’s hearing. Not in the sarcastic, disappointed sense of the phrase: he genuinely cannot process what James is saying to him.

_He’s asking for you_.

“Where-” Remus’ voice shakes, and he fights hard to stop it, “- where are you?”

“Helga Street,” James replies, and Remus can hear the relief in his voice. “Listen, mate, I’m really grateful for this.”

Remus swallows, and only says, “I’m on my way.”

When he looks back on it, Remus can’t remember anything about the walk through the cold, damp streets. He knows he scribbled a short note to Peter to let him know that he hadn’t been abducted, picked up his keys… But the next thing he can remember is the sight of a crumpled up figure listing on the curb of Helga Street, and the feeling of déjà vu is so strong that he stops in his tracks. Only, this time, there’s somebody else already standing there.

“Remus,” James grasps his hand when he gets close enough, and Remus nods distractedly. Because, there on the pavement, Sirius is turning his head to look at him, and really, there’s no room in Remus’ brain for anything else.

“Moony! You’re here!” Sirius slurs, and he looks drunkenly happy to see him. But then his face falls. “But I guess I can’t call you that anymore, huh. I… I…” He seems to lose the thread of what he was saying, and those dark eyes flutter shut.

Remus is instantly crouched down beside him. It’s a knee-jerk reaction, and he tries to justify it as part of his training, as the urge of any decent human being and not that it’s Sirius, Sirius, Sirius, and worry for him is suddenly drumming against the inside of his skull.

“Sirius?” He hesitates for half a second, then reaches out to touch his shoulder. The fabric of the shirt he’s wearing feels damp, and Remus can just detect the warmth from his skin. Sirius doesn’t respond. “Sirius, can you hear me?”

“Uh-huh,” The tiny affirmation slips out like a sigh.

Remus is still concerned- of course he is- but he doesn’t think he needs to call an ambulance just yet. “How far are we from his house?” He asks James.

“Not far. I was taking him home when…” James gestures wordlessly at Sirius’ prone figure.

Remus registers that there’s something odd about that, because James probably has the muscles to carry Sirius half-way across town if he wanted to, but at this point in time it isn’t his most pressing concern. He squeezes Sirius’ shoulder without thinking. “Can you get up, Sirius? We’re going to take you home.”

“To bed?” Sirius asks, instantly alert, and Remus has to smile a little, even though his heart is quietly fracturing into several thousand pieces.

“ _You’re_ going to bed,” He tells him, trying to sound exasperated. Sirius pouts but, to Remus’ relief, starts swaying to his feet.

They make slow progress down the uneven pavement, Sirius staggering a little whenever his balance is called into question. After a few steps, Remus goes on one side and James on the other, and they try to keep their wayward charge from falling and breaking his nose. As they walk, Sirius starts muttering.

“Sorry, James,” He keeps saying, “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

No amount of James’ reassurances will quiet him down, and Remus gets that feeling again, the one of slight unease. And then he’s distracted, because they’ve stopped in front of a house and Remus suddenly realises why he’s never been down Eberhardt Street.

Even in the dark, the townhouse is imposingly grand. Victorian, Remus would guess, with high, blank windows and an enormous door that might be brown or it might be green. The knocker is ornate, the keyhole discreet, the letterboxes neatly labelled with names. Mr S. Black has flat three, apparently. James retrieves Sirius’ keys from a back pocket and unlocks the door in a way that suggests he’s done this many times before. The three of them stumble into the hallway like they’re taking part in some bizarre three-legged race, and as James shuts the door behind them Remus has the chance to look around.

The space is dominated by a grand staircase, sweeping up the left-hand wall and around, out of sight. The walls are a clean, minimalist white, the bannister polished. On the right, a door with a brass number one in the centre is set into the wall. The floor has the feeling of an optical illusion: black and white diamond shaped tiles, repeating in uniform rows. When Remus cranes his neck, he finds a tasteful chandelier hanging above them, spilling bright light through elegant crystal. By his side, Sirius has finally gone quiet.

“Let’s get him upstairs,” James mutters, and Remus jerks in surprise, then nods. He lifts Sirius’ arm over his shoulder and James does the same on the other side, and together they start for the staircase.

“Sorry,” Remus murmurs over the top of Sirius’ head, “I just wasn’t expecting…”

James gives him an odd look, but then they’re climbing the stairs and Remus’ entire attention is focused on making sure Sirius is putting his feet where he should. That, and how close he is. Although the stink of alcohol is overwhelming, Remus can also smell the tang of sweat and a faint, clinging scent of cologne. His heart feels like it’s clattering in his chest.

They climb to the first floor, and then to the second, and finally they reach the black door with a number three. James unlocks this door with the second key, reaches inside for a light switch, and guides Sirius inside.

The flat (Remus supposes it’s more properly an apartment) is grand, but it’s also a tip. The hallway is littered with shoes, coats and scarves. The umbrella stand in the corner is empty, leaning against the wall at an angle. One of the bulbs in the ceiling lights has gone.

“I’ll take him to bed,” James says, but Sirius stirs at that.

“No,” He says, with all the self-certainty of the inebriated, “I want Moony.”

James rolls his eyes, and looks set to argue, but Remus steps in.

“I don’t mind.” And when James looks doubtful, he says, “Look, anything to make it easier, right?”

James presses his lips together, but relents. “Door on the right. I’ll come in in a bit, before he’s asleep.” Remus feels like there’s a kind of warning in there, but he doesn’t question it. He just pushes down on the handle and gently tugs Sirius into the darkened room.

“Light switch is on the right,” James calls softly from behind them, and Remus nods in thanks as the door clunks shut.

Once Remus has flicked on the light and taken in the chaos of the bedroom, he deposits Sirius on the bed (his shoulder is starting to ache) and crouches down in front of him.

“Do you need to be sick?” He asks. Practicalities had to be dealt with first. Sirius shakes his head. A few sweaty strands of hair cling to his forehead, and he reaches up to bat them away.

_Do not fucking stroke the hair out of his eyes, Remus Lupin_.

He heeds his own warning and bends down to start unlacing Sirius’ boots.

Sirius is uncharacteristically silent as Remus works, which doesn’t help Remus at all. There’s no distraction from the unrelenting _nearness_ of him, from the confusion and the anger and the vague sense of pity (no, he doesn’t know why, either) and the fact that no matter how much he might have stomped over Remus’ heart yesterday afternoon, he still makes Remus feel like there’s a bomb going off inside his chest every time he looks at him.

Just as he eases off the second shoe (he tries hard not to make a face at the smell, even though he’s pretty sure Sirius won’t notice or indeed remember in the morning), the door opens behind him.

“Drink,” James orders, and holds the glass of water out to Sirius. Sirius obediently takes it and drains it down. Then he blinks down at Remus.

“Come up here.” Remus wouldn’t say Sirius _whines_ , exactly, but it’s a close thing. He shuts his eyes and shakes his head very firmly.

“You need to _sleep_ , Sirius. On your side, that’s it.”

Sirius slowly subsides onto the mattress, apparently too exhausted to fight any more, and Remus stands up.

“He should be alright now.” James says, as Sirius’ eyelids droop, and Remus has no choice but to tear his eyes away and follow him out. He flicks off the light on his way past, and closes the door softly behind him.

In the hallway, James turns to him. “Thanks, Remus. I owe you one.”

“Does he do this often?” Remus can’t stop himself from asking. James grimaces.

“Drink? Yes. Do this? No… Not really. That’s the first time I’ve seen him that far gone in a long time.” Remus can see the concern in his eyes, the powerlessness. He recognises it all too well.

“Will he be alright in the morning?” He asks. At that, James shrugs a little.

“He usually is… I’d stay, or Marlene would, but she’s at home… He lives by himself, obviously.” James gestures around them at the mess, then grimaces. “But I don’t want to just abandon Lily, you know? Felt bad enough dropping her back at mine when we found Sirius…”

Remus’ heart is in his mouth, and he knows that this is probably a _very_ bad idea, but it’s said before he can stop it.

“I don’t mind staying.”

James looks sharply at him, and Remus fumblingly carries on. “If there’s a sofa I could sleep on- I just… I want to make sure he’s OK.”

And yes, there are other reasons but they all bow to that simple fact, the absolute priority of caring.

“OK,” James says, slowly, “OK.”

He doesn’t need to say _“I’m trusting you with this, and if you let me down I will break every bone in your body,”_ because it’s written all over his face. But then he fetches a blanket from the airing cupboard (yes, this apartment has an airing cupboard) and helps Remus clear the mess of papers and books and plates off the leather sofa and leaves his number, “ _Just in case.”_ And then he turns off the light and he’s gone.

Remus lies flat on his back, taking in the smells of unfamiliar washing powder and bacon and something that he thinks might be turpentine.

_I’ll never sleep_ , he thinks, and then ten seconds later he’s blacked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Please remember, if you are with someone who is drunk to the point of being unresponsive, you should always call them an ambulance*
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after, a Rottweiler in the kitchen and a spider in the shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've been trying to go through all the previous chapters and tidy up the little errors and inconsistencies- there were a fair few, so sorry about that! Thank you so, so much for all the incredible feedback, I can't put it into words how amazing it is.
> 
> A lot of you have been demanding that Sirius explain himself, and I totally understand your frustrations, but he's having a tough time, too. All I ask is that you're patient with him!

Remus is woken by the feeling of someone standing over him. He squints up and takes her in: upturned nose, long blonde hair, a camel-coloured coat.

“Who the _fuck_ are you?” The stranger asks him, and suddenly it all comes back to him, that he’s lying on Sirius’ sofa in Sirius’ flat after he’d helped bring him home. None of that helps explain who this (scarily well put-together) girl is. Regardless, the potency of her glare makes him think it’s best to answer.

“Remus Lupin,” His voice comes out cracked and snarled. Too early for talking. Judging by the height of the wintry sunshine streaming in through the window, too early full stop. He slowly drags himself into an upright position. He’s forcefully reminded of the few times he was yelled at by teachers for things he didn’t do- there’s the same slightly sick feeling, the same confusion, the same irrational guilt. Because he _hasn’t_ done anything. _Really_.

“The Student Safety Walk guy?” Now she sounds incredulous as well as mad, _good job, Remus,_ “Well, ‘Remus Lupin’, what the fuck are you doing here?!”

Does she mean here on the sofa or here in the flat or here on planet earth? _I wish I knew_ , he wants to answer, but decides that’s not the most sensible course of action. Before he can start to justify himself, however, there’s the sound of a door opening and the girl spins around. Two seconds later, Sirius ambles into the kitchen.

“Marl!” He exclaims, and they collide in a fierce hug. Remus, unnoticed on the sofa, sits and watches them, even more confused. And a little jealous of the way Sirius’ face has lit up at the sight of her.

“Sirius!” ‘Marl’ laughs, and then hits him, hard, on the shoulder, “What the hell were you doing last night? I leave you alone for five fucking seconds-!”

But Sirius has frozen in her arms. His eyes have locked with Remus’, and his face is pure surprise.

Marl disentangles herself and looks between them. “Yeah, I was wondering about him, too,” Her words drip with sarcasm, “Either of you care to enlighten me?”

Sirius visibly swallows. “Marl, this is Remus. Remus, this is Marl- Marlene.”

“Nice to meet you,” Remus says, warily. Marlene only glares.

“Remus helped me home last night, Marl, Jesus. It’s too early for your Rottweiler impression,” Sirius mumbles, and starts making his way across the kitchen, apparently eager to escape the conversation.

“Um, somehow I don’t think it’s in his guidelines to have a sleepover after assisting the terminally stupid, and also, why the fuck were you out getting pissed?! You said you’d stay home and ‘have a quiet one’.”

Sirius freezes, and Remus’ heart is going ten to the dozen. He looks back at Marlene, and something that Remus can’t read passes between them. Marlene rolls her eyes, seizes Sirius by the arm and frogmarches him from the room.

Remus, left on the sofa, has no clue what to do. A few words slide under the door and into earshot: “Bella,” and “No,” and “Listen.” He can’t make sense of them. He can’t make sense of anything, right now.

He doesn’t move a muscle until Marlene blows back through the door.

“Apparently, you and Sirius have a lot to discuss,” She says, in a meaningful but not entirely friendly way, advancing on Remus _just_ like a stalking Rottweiler. She stops when there’s barely a foot of space between them and bends down until their faces are on a level, and breathes,

“Do _not_ fuck him up, Remus. If you do, I swear to God I will hunt you down and make your life a misery.”

“I have no doubt of that,” Remus mutters, as she’s withdrawing. She doesn’t look back as she strides out of the door.

“I’m kindly fucking off, Sirius! Call me this afternoon or I’ll disown you!” The door slams shut and she’s gone. Sirius enters the kitchen for the second time that morning- Remus thinks he looks almost sheepish. And confused. And maybe something else? Remus doesn’t recognise it and he panics in the silence.

“What a sweet girl,” He deadpans, and Sirius chuckles as the tension lifts a little.

“Yeah. Sorry, about that. You met her at a- ah, bad time.”

Remus, unsure of what to say to that, nods. Once again, silence pulls apart between them: a fragile, delicate silence, where words nervously flutter around the edges but are too skittish to be voiced. At least, that’s how it feels to Remus.

“People don’t usually stay,” Sirius says abruptly, and Remus blinks at him. Their eyes catch again, and this time, they hold. Remus suddenly realises that he might be expected to reply.

“I- I wanted to be sure you were OK. You know, this morning.” His voice still sounds wrecked and his words are weak anyway. He can hear all the unsaid things swimming around in the spaces between.

_Why did you leave?_

_What did I say?_

“Well, thanks.” Sirius puts maybe a quarter of his usual voltage into his smile, but it’s still enough to make Remus’ heart jolt. He’s not changed out of the clothes he was wearing last night. Remus instantly decides that it should be against the law for someone to make crumpled, slept-in jeans and a band shirt look this good. It’s unfairly distracting.

Sirius dawdles by the doorway, and reaches up to push his fingers through his hair ( _again_ , unfairly distracting).

“I overreacted, yesterday, in the library,” He admits, and Remus’ heart slams into overdrive, “I’m- well, let’s just say…” Remus had never contemplated Sirius at a loss before; it seems an unnatural state for him. Sirius huffs out a sigh, and his gaze flickers away, his tone when he finally speaks sounding a little sharp around the edges. “I’m just used to people expecting the worst of me. But- I’m guessing you don’t, if you’re still here.” His tone lilts upwards at the end, like he wants it to be taken as a question without explicitly asking. His eyes flit back to Remus’ face.

Remus answers him, and for once in his life, what he wants to say and the words he actually forms are one and the same.

“Of course not.” He’s tired enough to make it sound as though he’s not too earnest, not too close to the bone (even though he is, he _is_ , but he guesses that will scare Sirius more than it will reassure him), and he can see the exact moment the guardedness fades a little from Sirius’ face. His eyes open a little wider, the line of his jaw loses the tautness that’s been present ever since he realised Remus was still here. It’s kind of beautiful to behold.

_Jesus, Remus_.

Then Sirius turns away a little, towards the mess of the kitchen counter. “Coffee?”

“Please,” Remus replies, and stirs on the sofa, “And do you mind if I use your bathroom?”

 

There’s a moment- just a moment- when Remus considers staying in Sirius’ bathroom (the _guest_ bathroom, because apparently it’s tidier; but also what the hell kind of student flat has a guest bathroom?) forever, hiding and hoping that all the things that keep battering his heart will subside if he just avoids them. But then an image of Sirius’ smile floats across the inside lining of his brain and he takes a deep breath, scrubs his hands through his wild hair and opens the door.

The kitchen is filled with the rumbling noise of a kettle close to the boil, and Sirius is spooning frightening amounts of instant coffee into two chipped mugs.

“Do you want me to die from a caffeine overdose?” Remus asks, drawing nearer and trying to pretend that his decision to do so isn’t making his mouth go dry, “Or yourself, for that matter?”

Sirius throws a glance and a smirk over his shoulder. “It takes a lot to get me going this early in the morning. As stimulating as you are, something chemical is still necessary.”

All the immunity Remus thought he’d gained to Sirius has apparently evaporated: he flushes bright red and snags the kettle when it clicks off for something to do. Then he tips about half of the coffee grains out of his mug and back into the container before pouring.

“Lightweight,” Sirius mutters from beside him. Remus ignores that, and starts to sip at the scalding coffee in what he hopes is a dignified silence. He can’t lie, it does help to bring him to life somewhat. He’d sort of expected Sirius to drain his mug in a few hardy swallows, but instead he watches as he blows on every tiny mouthful like a dainty maiden aunt. It’s rather endearing.

“So, what are we going to do today?”

Sirius’ question catches Remus off-guard, because he said ‘we’. As though it’s a given that he wants Remus to stick around. He takes another sip of coffee to put off having to answer, because really this is fine, just standing in the kitchen and talking, and anything else is moderately to severely out of his comfort zone.

“You’re going to get dressed,” He finally says, “And then…” He suddenly realises that he hasn’t checked his phone and he reaches for where he left it beside the sofa. He has two missed calls from Lily, he realises with a lurch, and one from James. That’s the only reason he doesn’t notice Sirius stepping into his space.

“And then do I get to pick?” Sirius breathes, and Remus is overwhelmed with a pang low down in his belly and the strong smell of coffee and dried sweat and the deep, slate grey pools of Sirius’ eyes staring up at him. He’s frozen for a heartbeat.

“No,” He mutters, “You don’t.” And when Sirius frowns a little, he raises an eyebrow, “You still owe me for getting you home, right?”

Sirius rolls his eyes, but backs off a little, “Great time to call in the favour,” He grouses, and it’s Remus’ turn to roll his eyes.

“I need to call Lily, and you need to have a shower and call James to let him know you’re alive,” He says. He tries to sound as firm as possible.

“Who’s Lily?” Sirius asks, and Remus hears a slight edge behind the bright curiosity.

“Flatmate,” He settles on. It’s not his place to say whether or not she’s James’ girlfriend.

“Oh,” Sirius sets down his empty mug and smiles brightly, “Don’t leave before I can say goodbye, yeah?”

Remus blinks at him, and Sirius somehow reads it.

“Yeah, not like _someone_ you know.”

His smile goes a little crooked and he strides off out of the kitchen. Remus watches him go, gives himself a mental shaking, and unlocks his phone.

Lily picks up after three rings.

“Remus?”

“Yeah.”

“Where are you? Are you still at Sirius’ place?”

“Yeah.” His heart lurches a little as he says it. He can hear the boiler beginning to hum from somewhere in the hall.

“What are you- never mind. Tell me when you get home. There’s a fucking massive spider in the shower!”

All the worry that Remus hadn’t realised he was feeling dissolves into laughter.

“Stop fucking laughing, Remus Lupin! I need a shower! This is not at all funny, you bastard!”

“Can’t James move it?” Remus asks, when he’s back under control.

“He’s playing an away match, so no. And we both know it’s no use asking Peter.”

They did both know that. If anything, Peter is even more scared of spiders than Lily.

“OK,” Remus sighs, “I’m coming.”

“You know you’re my favourite flatmate, don’t you? Unreservedly.”

“I do.”

“Good. Love you! Hurry up!” And the line goes dead.

Remus slides his phone into his pocket (14% battery, miracles do happen) and wonders how he’s going to tackle this. Any scenario that involves approaching Sirius in the shower/in a towel/any kind of compromising position would be unbearably awful- but he doesn’t want to just walk out. Maybe if he shouts loud enough from the hall Sirius will hear him?

_But I don’t want to go without knowing when I’ll see him again_ , a small voice whispers. Remus automatically shushes it.

Instead, he picks up his mug (and Sirius’ mug, and the inordinate amount of cutlery on the sideboard) and carries it to the sink. He intends to give everything just a quick rinse, but before he can stop himself he’s filled the washing up bowl with soapy water and is working his way through the mountain of crockery. Guilt about leaving Lily to face the spider alone nibbles at him, but really it’s not taking him that long. He’ll just clean this, and then he’ll leave…

That’s how Sirius finds him, wielding a tea towel in the significantly tidier kitchen.

“Do my eyes deceive me?” Sirius asks, his eyebrows climbing dangerously close to his hairline, “Or has the saint struck again?”

Remus throws the tea towel at him.

“Look, Sirius, I have to go.”

“My company wearing thin already?” Sirius asks and throws the tea towel right back. Remus carefully places it back on the side to prevent things escalating further.

“No.” He tries to be as sincere as he feels, but not too sincere, “But my… ‘saintly qualities’ are needed elsewhere. Lily is being terrorised by an eight-legged horror.”

“Fine, fine. I suppose I’ll allow you to rescue the damsel.”

“You’ll allow me?” Remus can feel his eyebrows quirking, “I thought you were the one who owed me?”

“So that’s why you did the washing up!” Sirius’ eyes glitter, “I knew there had to be some kind of dark secret in your soul. Good people don’t look as good as you do.”

And Remus blushes all over again. It doesn’t help that Sirius with wet hair looks like something that should be immortalised in marble, or photographed for a magazine, or, or, or…

“Come on, Moony,” Sirius performs a ridiculous bow and has to grab at the towel slipping from his shoulders, “I’ll see you out.”

Sirius escorts him down the stairs and out of the front door, into the crisp air (Remus following and trying not to smile at this, at everything, at being _Moony_ again). Then he realises he went out last night without a coat, and tries hard to disguise the way he shudders as the breeze shreds through his crumpled shirt.

“I would try and persuade you to come to the Sisters again tomorrow night, but I think Marlene will kill me if I go out again this week.” Sirius says, as they linger in the porch.

“Don’t forget to call her,” Remus reminds him. He wants to say, _invite me somewhere else, then_ , but he doesn’t.

Sirius nods. They stand in silence for a few seconds.

“Thanks again, Moony.” Sirius suddenly shrugs his arms out of the hoody he’s wearing (dark grey, with the Art History Soc logo on the breast) and pulls it off, “Take this. Go on.”

Remus looks at him, his hands automatically curling into the soft fabric. Sirius cracks half a smile.

“It’s the surest way I can think of seeing you again,” He says, and then he’s stepping back inside and the enormous front door has closed behind him.

Remus stands on the porch for just as long as it takes for him to stop wanting to grin like an idiot, then he gingerly pulls on the hoody and breathes in the smell of Sirius Black. All the way home, whenever he stops concentrating, a smile pushes across his face, like sunshine through scattered cloud, like a weed through a crack in the pavement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought! I love, love, love hearing your reactions and opinions and everything haha.
> 
> I know I've been cracking out these chapters at a fair rate, but uni work is really starting to pick up so I may update less often. Don't panic! I won't have gone anywhere and I will be back.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An evening at The Burrow- Lily Evans is scarily competitive, Peter knows some obscure things and Remus earns his nerd credentials.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so this chapter is basically twice the length of all those that have come before... It's also one of my favourites so far! Thank you so much to everyone who's stopped by, left kudos, comments, feedback on the story... Everything is indescribably wonderful, thank you!

The Burrow is more crowded than Remus has ever seen it. People have filled all the long tables in the middle, crammed into the softly lit alcoves, wobbled onto the rickety stools set along the bar. Presiding over ceremonies are two of Remus’ favourite people in the world: Molly and Arthur Weasley.

“Right then! Right!” Arthur’s saying, but nobody’s paying him any attention. The chatter is too loud. Remus thinks he knows what’s coming next: Molly- wild red hair pinned back and wearing her smartest plaid shirt- puts her hands on her hips.

“Oi! OI!” The little pub goes silent and turns to look at her. She beams, nudging Arthur with an elbow.

“Oh! Yes. Welcome, all, to the inaugural Burrow General Knowledge Quiz!” There’s a smattering of clapping at his words, and a few quiet cheers. “Yes, thank you! We’re very pleased to, uh, see _so_ _many_ of you here! Now, I trust you are already in teams of five?” A general shout of, ‘Yes!’ (and a few dissenters calling, ‘No!’). Molly strides off to deal with those waving their hands at her, and Arthur continues.

“The rules are very simple. Molly will read out the questions in sets of ten. At the end of each set, you will swap papers with another team and we will call out the answers. You will then hand the papers back. If you have succeeded in answering all ten questions correctly-”

“-And we will come round and check!” Molly interjects from the far corner.

“- Yes, exactly, and if no other teams have scored the full ten points then your team will win five extra bonus points. However, if other teams have scored ten points then you will go head to head in a sudden death round of five questions! Is that all clear?”

Around the room, heads nod. One girl sticks her hand up.

“What happens if no teams score the full ten points?”

“Then we move onto the next round.” Arthur bobs his head and looks around the room, but nobody else apparently has any other queries.

“Does everyone have paper and a pen?” Molly asks. Again, nods: some people wave both in the air.

“Right then!” Arthur claps his hands together and fishes a notebook from his pocket. “Let’s begin!”

Remus catches Molly’s eye as she takes the book from her husband’s hands, and they smile at one another. It reminds him of the first time they met.

First year. Lost on a pub crawl. Trying to swallow down the panic. Stumbling into the first place he could find and nearly tripping down the stairs. Proceeding with a little more caution. A red-haired woman behind the bar. A tall, lanky man with a beaky nose wiping down tables. Nobody else. Warm, yellow light. Thinking he’d stumbled into a hobbit hole. _“Hello, love!”_ It had been a long time since he’d heard someone give him an endearment. Struggling for something to say. _“Your light’s out, upstairs.” “Well, we were just shutting up, actually, but come and sit down. I hope you don’t mind me saying so, love, but you look done in. I’m Molly, and this is Arthur.”_

The Burrow had become a kind of sanctuary for him; Molly and Arthur were somewhere between friends and surrogate parents. Last year, he’d gone to them whenever everything was too much, too bright (and that had happened more and more often as exams loomed and the pressure mounted), and they would sit him in the tiny back room while one or the other bustled in and out and talked to him about everything and nothing until he’d gradually calmed down.

Arthur and Molly had been through university together, married the summer they graduated and bought a pub on a whim (they were always telling him not to follow their example, which made him laugh). After a lot of work, the place was thriving. Remus genuinely couldn’t think of two people who deserved it more. Which was why he’d promised to support their first ever annual quiz night and bring a team of himself and four friends…

And that’s how he finds his heart jumping into his throat when he looks across the table to see Sirius sat there, hair pulled back into a bun, a focused expression on his face. On his left is James, and beyond _him_ is Lily, who is looking more competitive than the pair of them combined. Peter makes up their five. He hadn’t wanted to come, but Remus had persuaded him that he needed to see another set of four walls besides his room, the kitchen and lecture halls. And that they’d need his science knowledge to have a hope of not coming last. Remus still has a sneaking suspicion they’re not exactly about to cover themselves in glory: his perfectionist half is crying, the rest of him is very, very distracted.

This is only the second time he’s seen Sirius in full control of his mental faculties, and Remus has really begun to grasp that Sirius has a gift of bending his surroundings to his will, as though he emits some kind of invisible field that subtly warps light and conversation to his whims. Remus has to constantly remind himself not to stare. Even Lily, who is notoriously hard to please (Remus remembers her telling him that and him being gobsmacked- because she was friends with _him_ , come on) has been gradually charmed in the hour they’ve sat together so far. Ever since Remus had suggested they meet up early at The Burrow for a drink or two before the quiz starts he’d been severely regretting the notion; but now-

“First question!” Molly announces, and Remus catches Sirius’ eyes, briefly, “What is the capital of Hungary?”

“Budapest,” Lily hisses, “Too easy.” She’s also commandeered the pen and paper, and scribbles down the word.

“Too easy. Of course. Far too easy.” Peter has a wicked line in sarcasm when he has a mind, and they all laugh.

“Next question! Which England Rugby Union side play their home games at Twickenham Stoop?”

“James?” Sirius nudges his friend, who’s frowning.

“Harlequins? Yeah, Harlequins.”

Remus and Peter share a despairing look of mutual redundancy.

“Question three! Cetaphobia is the term for a fear of what?”

“Oh!” Peter sits up straight beside Remus, “Cetaceans! Fear of whales and dolphins.”

They all give him impressed looks as Lily writes down the answer, and Remus more than ever suspects that he is going to be no use whatsoever in the quiz he got them all invited to.

“Which British prime minister had the nickname of ‘Sunny Jim’?”

And Remus fucking knows the answer. For a half second, he glories in the surprise, then leans forward and tells Lily, “Jim Callaghan.”

“Just because you took modern British in your A-level,” She glares at him, but she’s smiling too, and his eyes brush against Sirius’, _again_ , and he could swear he looks a little impressed. Then Molly’s voice cuts in.

“Question five! We’re halfway there, folks. What nationality was the composer Frederic Chopin?”

They all look at each other.

“Any guesses?” Says Lily, “I want to say he was Swedish, but somehow I think that’s wrong.”

“I think he was Polish,” Sirius volunteers an answer for the first time, a delicate frown creasing between his eyebrows. James and Peter just shrug, which doesn’t exactly help.

“What are we going for, Polish or Swedish?” Lily twirls the pen slightly menacingly.

“Polish,” Remus casts his lot and tries to look as innocent as possible. Sirius flashes him a grin.

“Polish it is.” It’s possible Lily is rolling her eyes as she bends over their answer paper; Remus can’t really make it out.

“By all means, don’t ask our opinions,” James ribs her. He grins at Peter, who looks a little shocked to be thought of at all- Lily really does roll her eyes at that.

“If there’s an engineering question Peter will have the last word.”

“What about me?”

“If there’s a question on ego, darling, you get first dibs.”

They all laugh at that, even as James fakes being wounded and Molly moves on to the next question.

“Who painted ‘ _Les femmes d’Alger’_?”

This time, they all look at Sirius, who smirks.

“Easy. Even _you_ heathens will have heard of him. Pablo Picasso,” The name rolls off his tongue with supreme confidence as he taps the paper to indicate Lily should start writing. After that the questions come thick and fast.

“The film company MGM has a roaring lion as its logo- what do the letters MGM stand for?”

“Metro Goldwyn Mayer,” Peter rattles off. “What? I watched a lot of films when I was a kid.”

“What is the opposite of concave?”

Remus, James and Peter all jostle over one another in an attempt to whisper, “Convex.”

“Complete the next line of this song: “You used to get it in your fishnets…””

Remus knows Lily knows this one, but he doesn’t expect Sirius to join in.

“But now you only get it in your nightdress!”

“Discarded all the naughty nights for niceness, landed in a very common crisis,” Lily continues humming as she scribbles down the words, “Do you think we’ll get extra points for knowing more lines?”

Remus shakes his head. “Molly’s very strict.”

“Final question in this round! What is the national currency of Iceland?”

There’s a brief silence as they all look at one another.

“Guesses?” James asks, “Because I have no idea.”

“It’s not a trick question, like euro or something?” Lily offers.

“Don’t think so… I want to say kronos? But that’s Greek-”

“No, that’s it! Kroner!” Remus snaps his fingers as the answer comes to him.

“You sure?” Lily asks him, and he nods, “OK, then.”

“We’re pinning our hopes of victory on you, Moony,” Sirius drops in his nickname so casually that Remus almost forgets to blush- but only almost, and he has to hide his face in his pint glass to give himself time to recover. When he emerges, he says, “Unless Chopin was Swedish. In which case, the defeat can be chalked up to you, I think.”

“You wound me,” Sirius smirks, and Lily clears her throat loudly.

“I’ll be the one apportioning blame.” They all look alarmed at that, and she smirks. “Good men.”

Arthur calls across the room, “If you all hand your papers to the table to the left of you- yes, like that, then I’ll read out the answers!”

There’s a general rustle as sheets of paper migrate clockwise around the room.

“Did they put Swedish?” Sirius instantly asks, craning over Lily’s shoulder. She shrugs him off and bats James away as he tries to snag the answers.

“Shhh!” Peter tells them.

“The answer to question one- yes, question one! Is… Budapest!”

“Told you. Easy.” Lily checks the other team’s answer. “Oh, wait- they have a team name. Do we need a team name?”

Sirius instantly perks up, “I love team names.” Remus glances at him in surprise, and James snorts.

“Yeah, he’s not as punk rock as he’d like everyone to believe,” He stage whispers across the table, and Sirius effortlessly gives him the finger.

“The answer to question two is… The Harlequins!”

James fist pumps. Sirius, however, will not be distracted. “Team name?”

“We literally have nothing in common,” Lily says, absently, most of her attention on Arthur.

“I wouldn’t say that! Wit, intellect, good looks…”

“Only you have enough of an ego to say that, mate.”

“Whatever, Prongs.”

“Personally, I’ll take the compliment,” Peter pipes up.

“Question three! The answer is… A fear of whales!”

“Ha!” Lily mutters, “They put fear of seating!”

Remus snorts.

“We could be Random Strangers team,” Peter says.

“Objection,” Lily and Remus say together, then laugh.

“I also object,” James says, mildly, “Given that she’s my girlfriend.”

“By all means, conveniently forget that I have _only_ been your best friend since we were three,” Sirius puts in, loftily, “I don’t care.”

Remus hadn’t known that, hadn’t realised how deep their relationship ran- although he supposes he should have guessed, given that James was willing to give up his evening with Lily to get Sirius home safe.

“For question four, the answer is…” Remus suddenly remembers that he provided the answer for this one, and his heart seizes, “- James Callaghan!”

“Nice one, Remus,” Peter says.

“Thanks.”

“Team name! Come on, people, focus!” Sirius barks at them, “And if you don’t help, you’ll be stuck with whatever name I pick for us.”

Remus reflects how quickly Sirius has made an impression on Lily and Peter, because they practically fall over themselves to tell him no.

“Question five! The answer was… Polish!”

“Yes!” Remus can’t tell which one of them says it, but when Sirius grins at him and holds up his palm for a high-five, he decides it doesn’t matter.

_My God, the way that man smiles._

_My God, Remus Lupin, pull yourself together._

“And for question six, the answer was Pablo Picasso.”

Sirius gives an elaborate, if somewhat constrained by the table, bow.

“Now, for the team name- how about The Christian Union?” Sirius has the nerve to look straight at Remus as he says this, and once again Remus has to drink or be horrifically embarrassed by the colour in his cheeks.

“Peter actually is in the Christian Union, Sirius,” Lily points out.

“Really?” James asks, as Sirius has the grace to apologise. Peter doesn’t exactly look comfortable, but he accepts it nonetheless, and starts to explain the power of God to James.

“The answer to question seven was Metro Goldwyn Mayer!”

The theological discussion breaks off to congratulate Peter, and Remus breathes a sigh of relief. Pete can really, really talk about God, and he’s not entirely sure James was really in the mood.

“Question eight! Answer was… Convent- sorry, convex!”

The whole pub chuckles along with Arthur as Lily marks the answer, grudgingly, as correct.

“You do realise we still don’t have a team name?” Sirius points out.

“You’re like a dog with a bone, you know that, right?” Remus says.

“Yeah, shut up, Fido.”

“Prongs, have I ever told you you are the worst friend I have?”

“What happened to ‘best friends since we were three’?”

“ _Prongs_?” Lily asks.

“For question nine!” Arthur’s voice cuts through their banter, “The answer was ‘But now you only get it in your nightdress’. Those nine words, no more, no less.”

“Boarding school nicknames were weird,” James explains. “Hey! Why don’t we use our name from school? As a team name?”

“You literally just said they were weird,” Peter points out.

“Our name was good!” Sirius says, defensively, until he catches Remus looking at him, “OK, it was weird. But good weird! We were The Marauders!”

There’s a second of silence around their table.

“Damn,” Lily says, “That’s actually pretty good.”

Remus is experiencing a strange feeling inside his chest at the idea of school-age Sirius. Or maybe it’s not the idea of school-age Sirius, it’s at the way he talks about it: somehow lighter, less closed-off. Remus wonders why school is a good memory for him. Or, maybe, what’s changed in the intervening time.

“And finally, the answer to question ten was… Icelandic Kroner! Has everyone got that? Wonderful, hand the papers back then, and if any team has scored the full ten points then give us a wave!” Arthur is bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Before they even get theirs back Lily has her hand shoved in the air. Remus twists in his seat to take the sheet and sees the ten scrawled at the bottom, with an accompanying note: _“If you keep this up we’re assassinating you all to even up our chances”._ Remus snorts and looks at their neighbours more closely. A girl with long dark hair gives him a poisonous smile, and he waves back.

“Hello Remus! So good to see you!” Molly descends on their table and leans down to give him a hug, “Why don’t you introduce me to your friends? Now, let me see your answers.”

Remus hands them over and goes around the table. “Molly, this is Peter, my flatmate, Lily, also my flatmate, James, her boyfriend and Sirius, my- friend.” He hopes none of them notice his slight stumble at the last.

“Hello!” They all chorus at her, and Molly repays them with a beaming smile.

“Excellent work, team. I’ll let you know if any other teams score the full ten!” She bustles off.

“Hey!” Lily rises half-way out of her chair and yells over the table, “Which one of you losers is the trained assassin?”

Oops. Remus hadn’t thought to warn her about the note.

“Wait- what?” Peter squeaks, twisting around too.

The girl who Remus saw earlier leans forward in her chair.

“Alice Bomans,” Her voice carries over the general hubbub, “I study chemistry. I could definitely poison you all. Frank here will help with the injection sight, won’t you?”

“Don’t drag me into this, Alice!” Frank protests. He has a round face and a slightly wind-swept fringe. “Anyway, we swear a Hippocratic oath. First do no harm.”

“You’re no fun,” Alice pouts, and the rest of their team laugh.

“Amateurs,” Lily says, but she’s smiling as she says it, and Alice rolls her eyes.

“Don’t worry,” The boy closest to Remus says, “We have the entirety of the next round to plot our next move.”

“Should I be worried?” Remus asks.

“Between you and me, probably not,” The boy whispers, “But don’t tell Alice I said that.”

“My lips are sealed,” Remus promises, and then Molly is calling for their attention and he spins back in his seat to find Sirius watching him.

“Right! Only two teams have succeeded in scoring the full ten points, so they will go into a five question sudden death round on a specific topic. The two teams are The Slimy, Slithery Snakes-” A team in the far corner gives a cheer, “- and the…”

“The Marauders!” James yells.

“The Marauders! So, your sudden death topic is… The Lord of the Rings books.”

Lily lunges across the table to nudge Remus’ arm. “You’re up for this one, Remus.”

_Shit_. He looks wordlessly at James and Sirius, but both just shrug. “I’ve watched the films a few times, mate, but haven’t read the books for years.”

Remus takes a deep, steadying breath, and turns to face Molly. He’s not sure if he should stand up.

_OK, I did reread the books only a few weeks ago. But this is **pressure** and as we all know, Remus Lupin and excessive pressure is not always the best mix._

“First question!” Molly says, and there’s no time for him to back out now, “Aragorn renames ‘the sword that was broken’ what?”

“Oh!” Remus has made the exclamation before he can stop himself, then shoots his hand in the air.

“The Marauders think they have an answer!” Arthur nods at him encouragingly, and Remus tries hard to make sure his voice doesn’t wobble.

“Anduril.” God, he sounds like such a nerd right now. He can’t bring himself to look at Sirius.

“Correct answer!” Molly grins, and behind him Lily whoops. Remus feels a tiny bit braver but keeps his gaze fixed straight ahead.

“Second question. Denethor is not the King of Gondor but a…”

“Steward!” It’s not him who shouts it- the girl from Slimy, Slithery Snakes was faster and Remus curses himself.

“Correct! One point apiece. The third question: Saruman’s tower is named…”

“Isengard!” The girl shouts out again and he can hear James groan, but Remus sits bolt upright.

“Incorrect!” Arthur tells her, “Would The Marauders like to answer?”

“It’s Orthanc,” Remus calls, and Arthur nods, provoking another cheer from Lily.

“Correct. Question four: the name of the Hobbiton miller is…”

“Sandyman!” Again, the opposing team beats Remus to it. He can feel his face growing hot; but at the same time, a skein of determination is solidifying inside his brain. He really wants to win.

“Indeed it is! It’s neck and neck between these two teams! Question five…” Remus rubs his hands together nervously, heart hammering in his throat, “In the last alliance between elves and men, what was the name of the elven king?”

“Gil-galad!” Remus shouts, and the round is won. Peter pats him on the shoulder, Lily shrieks as though they’ve already won the whole thing, but Sirius only has to smile at him and Remus’ heart rises out of his chest to bob somewhere near the ceiling.

“That leaves The Marauders in the lead! Feel free to buy more drinks before we move onto the next round.”

 

They do win the whole thing, although The Slimy, Slithery Snakes fight them the whole way into a dramatic last round sudden death battle. Remus’ head is still ringing from the cheers- although that could just be Lily, who is now quite drunk and singing ‘We Are the Champions’ at the top of her voice along with James as they stand outside the pub.

“They’re actually making some quite lovely harmonies, don’t you think?” Sirius reflects, and Remus jumps a little- he hadn’t realised Sirius was standing so close.

“Maybe they should start a band,” Remus says, dryly, and Sirius laughs.

“Are you coming, Remus?” Peter is standing on the curb, ready to cross, ready to go home.

“Well?” Sirius asks. He’s very close now.

“Sirius-” Remus’ mouth is dry. He doesn’t know how to summarise _My flatmate almost certainly thinks homosexuality is a sin and I’m not brave enough to tackle him about it and anyway this whole thing is already overwhelming enough without considering sex, which I’m pretty sure is what you’re aiming for and although I’m not saying never because that would be the most stupid decision I’d ever make in my sorry life I also can’t say yes right now_.

Thankfully, Sirius seems to be able to read the reluctance in his face.

“Goodnight, Moony,” Sirius pulls him into a hug, and it’s surprisingly gentle. Remus holds himself very still in Sirius’ arms, breathing in the smell of him (so much better than just on the hoody he’d discreetly returned when they’d first sat down) and feeling the faint warmth sinking through his jacket. They stay that way for too short a time, but James and Lily move onto attempting Love is an Open Door and they have to be forcefully encouraged to go their separate ways (“All my life has been a series of doors in my face, Remus! Don’t be a door in my face!” “Lily, you have a lecture tomorrow at ten.”). But as Sirius turns to walk with James down the pavement, he looks back and calls, “I’m not going to stop trying, Moony! Just so you know!” And Remus could swear he goddamn winks as he says it.

Maybe it’s the high he’s riding from the happiness of the evening (and maybe a little liquid courage, too), but he doesn’t hesitate to pull out his phone as he walks behind Peter and Lily. OK, maybe he hesitates a little before typing- but he’s not getting marks for speed here.

**Remus** : Good

 

A shuddering breath, and recklessness whooshes through his chest.

**Remus** : Don’t want you to stop

**Sirius** : who knew that beneath the snarky exterior, remus lupin is an enormous flirt?

**Remus** : Sorry

It’s complicated

Coffee tomorrow? Will try to explain

**Sirius** : know something about complicated

when and where

and don’t be sorry

I like it

 

Remus’ heart is in his throat, and a strange smile is trying to shove its way out across his face. He hadn’t even realised he could play this game; he _should_ stop, but maybe not quite yet.

**Remus** : And I like a man who knows what he wants

**Sirius** : can flirty remus come out to play more often?

I like him

**Remus** : All Remuses are tired and must sleep

Goodnight Sirius

**Sirius** : grammatically your name is already a plural

one remu

ten remus

you’ve gone to sleep haven’t you

lightweight

goodnight remus

see you tomorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously, inspiration for 'Remu' comes from the multitude of tumblr posts regarding drunk/tired Sirius being a foolish grammatical pedant. And finally we have all the Marauders together! The next chapter will be shorter, but it's one that's close to my heart. Anyway, let me know what you think!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coffee and a difficult conversation- on Remus' side, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who's left kudos and comments: the feedback on this story has exceeded my expectations on every level! This chapter is quite short but very dear to my heart.
> 
> Warnings: references to bullying, homophobia, biphobia, self-harm (very vague) and physical violence.
> 
> Points to you if you notice the Fangirl reference!

**Remus** : Morning Sirius!

Oh, not awake yet?

Lightweight

3 broomsticks at two?

He messages Sirius on the way to his morning lecture (dragging a fairly hungover and very grumpy Lily) and has to force himself to leave his phone alone until they are released for lunch two hours later.

 **Sirius** : park your snark remu

see you there though

 

“You’re abandoning me?” Lily groans when he breaks the news to her and plunks her head face-first on the desk, “To go on a date with your sexy new boyfriend?” The wood does not muffle the end of her sentence enough to stop Remus turning brick red.

“He’s _not_ my boyfriend, Lily. Jesus, I can’t believe I’m having to say this.”

“Why, because you feel like you’re in a rom-com or because you can’t believe how perceptive and smart I am?”

“Both. No! Not the last one!” He buries his head in his hands. Lily does the opposite and springs upright in her chair.

“Ha! Too late now!”

“I should have tapped gloating earlier this morning, it has the most extraordinary motivational effect on you,” Remus mutters, and continues to avoid her gaze, “ _Anyway_ , my point still stands. We’re just- I don’t know what we are. Friends.”

Lily snorts at that. Remus shushes her and fixes her with his most potent glare.

“Sirius is _not_ my- boyfriend. One: I met the guy last week. Two: I’ve seen him on four occasions since then, and two don’t count because he was wasted. Three: I don’t even know if he’s-”

“Gay?” Lily puts in, helpfully, and Remus rolls his eyes, because that wasn’t what he meant but whatever, it will do.

“- and four: _Peter_.”

The glee fades from Lily’s expression, and Remus takes the opportunity with both hands.

“ _Exactly_ , Lily. _Exactly_.”

“Shit. I promise I won’t say anything. Not a whisper. Not a word.”

Hearing Lily say it reminds Remus of how uncomfortable it makes him feel, and he twists his hands together. On the one hand, Peter is his friend. He’s a _good_ friend. Also a housemate who could probably make Remus’ life a living hell (Catholic puns not withstanding) if he wanted.

On the other, there’s Sirius. Sirius, with his smiles and his certainty and his fit-to-drown-in eyes. And it’s not like feeling stupidly scared of Peter has stopped Remus so far.

He pushes all the worries, all the uncertainty, to the back of his brain, tells them firmly to stay there and gets to his feet. It’s a quarter to two, and he has somewhere he needs to be.

 

Waiting for Sirius is no easier today than it was last week, Remus reflects, as he tries not to anxiously peer out of the window beside him or drum his fingers on the arm of his chair. He was afraid he would be the one arriving late- but it’s ten past two, and there’s still no sign of Sirius.

The Three Broomsticks is a café by day and a cocktail bar by night, doing a roaring trade in takeaway coffees for students traipsing into the sciences library a few doors down the road. The interior is well-lit and filled with a motley collection of tables and soft chairs; the counter overseen by a lovely, yet tyrannical woman named Rosmerta. Remus is practically on first-name basis with her now: his halls of residence last year was at the other end of the street, his loyalty card is nearly full up again. He shifts in his seat, trying to remain calm.

The bell above the door chimes- and Remus sees a now-familiar head of dark hair hustle in out of the chill. He waits until Sirius has turned in his general direction, then raises a hand to catch his attention. There's the familiar punch behind his sternum as Sirius recognises him; or maybe it’s just the sight of Sirius' face. Remus doesn’t really care to dissect that either way, right now.

“Hey, Moony,” Sirius looks so pleased to see him and Remus’ heart is doing disgustingly joyful things in his chest as he swings into the armchair opposite. “You bought coffee!”

“Well, you bought last time,” Remus says, trying to make is seem like it’s not a big deal and quickly changing the subject, “Are you always late, or is that just- has that just been this week?” Remus swallows around the words _is that just for my benefit_. He can’t tell if Sirius heard them anyway.

“I have to have one flaw, don’t I?” Sirius smirks, “Otherwise I would basically be-”

“A walking, talking ego.” Remus finishes smoothly, and meets Sirius’ gaze like a challenge. His throat is suddenly home to his thundering heart. For some strange reason, it doesn’t seem like a bad thing. Sirius lets out a bark of laughter.

“Moony, as much as I’d love to sit here and be insulted by you all day, I was under the impression that we were here to talk about something important? Although,” Sirius grins sarcastically and Remus’ heart does its best impression of bungee jump, “I can’t _imagine_ what could be more important than my ego.”

“Har har,” Remus really is laughing though, trying and failing to hide it. He sips at his coffee and tries to get himself back under control. Sirius mirrors him, then sets the glass mug back down and leans back in his chair.

“So?” He prompts.

Remus finds himself without words. He doesn’t even know where to start. The silence stretches between them; it reminds Remus of the library, and his heart seizes in panic.

“Don’t tell me this is the part where you tell me you aren’t gay.” Sirius says, deadpan, and Remus jerks his head up.

“ _No_!” His denial is so vehement that it surprises even him; and he’s suddenly giggling like a teenager as Sirius cracks up across the table, “Christ, no! Well- I mean, I'm bisexual, I think-” Remus suddenly looks up, because he’s heard about people who won’t go near bisexuals with a ten-foot pole and also he can’t believe he just said that out loud in public, but Sirius is still laughing.

“Technically, I was right. You _aren’t_ gay.”

Remus can think of nothing better to do than roll his eyes.

“Regardless, that isn’t the issue.” Remus manages to get out, and Sirius quietens down almost instantly. “The issue-”

_Peter-_

_I’m supposed to just talk about Peter-_

_But it’s not just Peter-_

_It’s me-_

_Me-_

_My fucked up brain and screwed up past_ -

Remus takes a deep breath. Everything he swore he’d keep locked away is crowding forward, jostling for attention, pick me! Pick me! He wraps one hand around the other, rests them on his knees and tries breathing again.

“Remember I told you I was home-schooled?” He asks Sirius, and the other boy nods. The way he’s watching Remus almost makes him grind to halt, but from some deep, untapped resource of courage, he finds the strength to keep talking. “That wasn’t- not the whole story, I guess you could say. I _did_ go to school until I was fourteen. I just- um…” God, it’s been months since he’s had to say this, and the last time he’d been drunk on tequila and he’d sat on the kitchen floor with Lily and the words had spilled out with barely any prompting. Now, they sit in his throat like boulders, heavy, immobile.

“School wasn’t a good place?” Sirius asks, softly, and Remus is dragged back to his eyes. He automatically chews on his lower lip and nods jerkily.

“They- somebody outed me, when I was thirteen. There was a group of kids who-” His voice loses any semblance of stability, and he hates it, he hates how vividly he can remember the words like fists and the fists that rained down like blessings on his body and his stomach, “Anyway- some of them jumped me one day. I ended up in hospital. And mum said I wasn’t ever going back.”

Remus stares down at his hands, air trembling inside his lungs. Sirius doesn’t need to know the rest. (The scars that are still there, the pills, the reverberations that still rock his foundations even now, _he doesn’t need to know any of that_ ).

“Moony…” Sirius says, and Remus looks up to see him sat forward in his chair, holding out his hand and looking slightly like he’s not sure what he’s doing. Not demanding, certainly; rather, he’s offering Remus the choice to reach back. Barely breathing, he does. Yes, he’s been through some fucked up things, but at this moment in time they aren’t enough to make him pass up this kind of opportunity. He’s tentative as he places his palm on Sirius’, hyper aware of the heat of where their skin joins, of the pressure in his tentative grip around Sirius’ hand. His heart is a drumbeat against his ribs.

“Jesus, there are some fucked up people in this world,” Sirius sighs. He says it as though he’s trying to not sound mad, but Remus can hear a faint note of anger running through his words. For reasons inexplicable, it makes him flush.

“They were- we were kids,” He mutters.

Sirius grips his hand a little harder.

“That doesn’t excuse it.”

Remus can’t look at him. His brain is rapidly filling up with security and longing and shame and desperation all jumbled together, and Sirius is still holding his hand in broad daylight like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He swallows.

“I- I know.”

Sirius gives his hand a tight squeeze, then lets go. Remus suddenly remembers how to breathe again, and his brain quietens down a little. Then he feels ashamed, because it’s like he doesn’t want Sirius’ help and kindness and no, no he _really_ wants that. He just can’t handle it right now.

He shakes his head and wraps his hands carefully around his coffee mug.

“Sorry.”

Sirius leans back again and looks off to the side, his jaw taut.

“You have zero things to be sorry for, Moony. Zero.”

Remus opens his mouth, but Sirius fixes him with a look and raises a finger.

“No! No. Don’t argue. _Zero_.”

Remus wants to say something petty, like, _I wasn’t going to argue_ , although he blatantly was. He opts for drinking his coffee instead, and Sirius’ face relaxes into a smile (not as high wattage as before, but a smile nonetheless). Somehow, amazingly, that relaxes Remus, too, just a bit.

“So that just leaves the _minor_ problem of my fanatically Catholic flatmate,” He says, “But other than that we’re good.”

_We’re good? What the hell does that mean, Lupin?_

Internally, he cringes.

Opposite him, Sirius waves an airy hand.

“Minor details.” His mouth quirks up on one side. “I have a great deal of experience in being stealthy.”

Remus eyes him sceptically. “How? You’re probably the most conspicuous person I know,” He adds the last on before he can stop himself.

“Really?” Sirius drawls, “What is it? My charm, good looks, or charisma?”

Remus rolls his eyes so hard it nearly hurts, because Sirius Black is the definition of _irrepressible_ (although he definitely avoided the question, but Remus decides to let it go).

“And now we’re back to your ego,” He sighs, draining the last of his coffee and hoping they’ll be able to change the subject. He doesn’t need any encouragement, apparently, to make a total prat of himself.

“So we are,” Sirius lets his smile grow a little and a more comfortable silence ensues. Which is stupid, because Remus still doesn’t know what they are or where they’re going with this or even how they got here in the first place, but somehow… Panicking over these things seems like an abstract concept, right now. Oddly unnecessary. He sets the mug carefully back in its saucer and watches Sirius.

Sirius watches him back.

“Remus,” Sirius finally exhales through the name, making it sound almost like a caress ( _what the hell, that shouldn’t even be possible_ ), “I will readily admit that I’m shitty at being patient. And I’m- I’ve been pushing hard since we met, because-” Sirius just gestures to Remus in general, as though that explains everything and it _really_ doesn’t, “- but I promise I can actually act like a _decent_ human being. Sometimes.”

Remus notes the way the word ‘decent’ seems to taste sour in Sirius’ mouth, but he’s distracted by the way Sirius is looking at him- somehow intense and light-hearted at the same time.

“So… We carry on as we are?” Remus says slowly, looking carefully at Sirius’ expression to see his reaction. Sirius considers the idea, then nods.

“For now?” He clarifies.

“For now,” Remus affirms, and never before have those two words sounded so much like a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you guys enjoyed that- as always, I love hearing your feedback.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rugby match, an after-party and a confrontation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I start every chapter like this, but thank you so much to everyone who's read this fic, who's left kudos, who's commented... You are wonderful and I love you all.
> 
> Warnings: alcohol and a verbal confrontation I guess (not really sure what to call it). If you notice anything that I've missed then let me know.

**Sirius** : Le jame has match on sat

joining?

can promise glorious after party if we win

can promise glorious misery if we lose

**Remus** : Is this a thing now? Singular names?

And yes

I will be there

But until then I need to do some work

**Sirius** : have I been distracting you remu?

**Remus** : Yes, siriu, my life was a dark cave until you arrived like a beacon of blessed light

**Sirius** : wow

**Remus** : English student

Also, sarcasm

Anyway

See you on Saturday

Siriu

**Sirius** : that’s not my name

**Remus** : the ting tings called, they want their song back

And you brought it upon yourself

**Sirius** : I’m not dignifying that with an answer

**Remus** : Naturally

 

***

 

Remus had forgotten that playing fields are fucking freezing in October. His inner nature freak might be rejoicing at the veritable riot of colour that’s splashed over the leaves of the surrounding trees and the slight hint of mist that hangs in the air, and of course the rest of him is rejoicing because he has Sirius standing right next to him, but he’s also praying fervently for a warmer coat. Or a pair of gloves. His fingers seem to have temporarily exited to a parallel universe. He buries his hands further in his pockets and tries to avoid obviously bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“I don’t need to explain the rules to you, do I?” Sirius asks, from behind the enormous collar of a black coat and a lumpy knitted scarf.

“No,” Remus says, and doesn’t trust himself to say anything else. He’s running on five hours of sleep and therefore has next to no brain-to-mouth filter. Sirius, to be fair, also looks shattered: but in a I-had-more-fun-than-should-be-humanly-possible-last-night kind of way, rather than just plain exhausted. His eyes look paler in the cool light. More grey than indiscernibly dark and magnetic; off-set by the red and gold striped wool. His mouth isn’t even visible.

_Which is a shame, really. He has a very nice mouth_.

“The mystery deepens,” Sirius cuts off Remus’ unfortunate train of thought, very much to his relief, and he answers quickly.

“I’m Welsh. It’s in the blood.” He says the last bit with a hint of irony. He’s always been slow, skinny and disinclined to inflict bodily harm on others, and it was forever a slight disappointment to his dad that he never made a team.

“You’re Welsh? Oh, yeah- I remember you saying your mum was.”

Remus nods, all the while thinking, _he remembered? I don’t even remember telling him that_.

Sirius casts him a sidelong look. “No accent, though?”

_How is it everything that man says can be construed as flirting? How?_

_And also, I got rid of it here. Got tired of being the freak show after the first few weeks._

He suddenly realises he said the latter out-loud (nope, _no_ filter) and freezes. He glances at Sirius, and can tell that behind the hideous scarf his mouth has twisted in distaste.

“Welcome to Crosbie,” He says, and Remus laughs.

“The ‘most prestigious university in Britain’ has its drawbacks,” He reflects, “Scholarship kid with the regional accent- it’s a wonder they didn’t put me in a cage and charge for passers-by to ogle.”

Sirius, to Remus’ surprise, puts a hand on his shoulder. Just a friendly hand, muffled by several layers, but Remus looks at him a little sharper than he normally would.

“Most pretentious, more like,” Sirius says, and Remus snorts in agreement, “But I wish we’d been friends back then. I’d have beaten them up for you.”

How is it that _that_ , of all things, makes him blush?

“Hadn’t pegged you as violent,” He covers.

“Well,” Sirius allows, squeezing his shoulder slightly, “I’d have persuaded James to help me out.” He almost winks, then lets Remus go. At that moment, the two teams jog out onto the pitch to cheers (and jeers) from the crowd, and Remus has a few moments to think.

The more he talks to Sirius, the more he’s getting past the archness, the sharp humour and liquid suggestiveness. The truth, he thinks, is a little more messy: less sophisticated, more gentle; warmer; the jagged edges hidden in places where he doesn’t expect them rather than the places Sirius takes pains to signpost. There’s a good friend somewhere inside Sirius Black, probably existing side-by-side with the outrageous flirt and biting adversary. Remus is surprised, but also… not. As though he knew it all along. But that’s a stupid idea. And anyway, the game’s starting.

By half-time, Remus’ voice is scratchy from shouting but his hands have finally started to warm up. The Crosbie Lions (terrible, Remus knows it’s terrible but goddamn it they’re his team! Come on, Lions!) are leading 18-12 and so far it hasn’t even been that dirty. James has taken out his gum shield and is pacing up and down in front of the bench, involved in what looks to be a deep and inspiring pep-talk and also trying to get his hair to lay flat, which seems to be an equally thankless task. Sirius watches him with a fond expression.

“He’s always been the same. Vain, bloody-minded git.”

“You never play rugby at school?” Remus asks, idle and interested.

Sirius laughs. “No. They tried. But in the second match I played I put a layer of superglue on the try line and got James to sit on the first goon who scored against us. By the time they pulled him- James, as in- off, he was stuck fast. It was _beautiful_.” The faraway look in his eyes is probably for show, but it makes Remus laugh regardless.

“And there was I thinking you just drew dicks on the lawn.”

Sirius had told him about that prank (apparently repeated, in increasingly inventive ways, every year until they left) when they were in the library together.

“Please. Give us a little more credit!”

“My apologies for blaspheming your Marauding career,” Remus tips his head in a conciliatory gesture that’s only half-mocking and Sirius grins with his eyes.

“Shame Lily isn’t here really. He gets very… _peacocky_ when he feels the need to impress,” Sirius nods at his friend, who’s now pounding his palm with his fist and looking vaguely like Remus’ idea of a war-mongering Gaul, minus the woad and nudity, “Why couldn’t the fair lady grace us with her presence?”

“She’s a conscientious student with an essay due on Tuesday,” Remus says, and ignores the guilty squirm in his stomach. As a matter of fact, he has the same essay to write, and he hasn’t even started yet. “Unlike some,” He mutters, mostly to himself.

“Ah, procrastination,” Sirius muses; teases, it really could be either, “Such a seductive mistress.”

“Well, sometimes she makes it worth my time.” Remus lets the words slip out along with a direct stare at Sirius, and neither looks away until the whistle blows again a few seconds later and the match plunges back into motion. Remus shouts encouragement from the side lines and tries not to dwell on the surprised, open, smiling expression that Sirius had worn just before he’d broken eye contact. Oh, he really tries.

 

***

 

“To victory! To friendship! To trouncing fucking Beale!”

The chorus of toasts rings through the crowded bar of the Four Founders pub, and Remus raises his pint glass along with the rest of the Crosbie rugby team and their supporters. They’ve been here- God, Remus doesn’t know, a few hours maybe?- And everyone is somewhere between tipsy and thoroughly pissed. Remus is on the more moderate end of the scale, because _somebody_ has to be in the vague proximity of sober (and he doesn’t want to be anything less than totally present in every moment involving Sirius; not that he’d admit that to anyone but himself) to make sure nobody does anything too stupid. Whether allowing James and Sirius to start doing shots is stupid, Remus reflects, remains to be seen.

They’d encouraged him to join in, but after a swallow (or maybe it was two, or perhaps three) of vodka Remus felt the room start to blur just a tiny bit at the edges and decided to rein it in. Now, watching the pair of them attempt to do the twist in the limited floor-space between the tables and the broad backs of James’ teammates, he’s very, very glad he made that decision.

Sirius has been on fire all evening: draped around the shoulders of strangers; laughing at his own jokes; teeth gleaming in the dim light as he downs shots like water. Every time he leaves Remus’ side, Remus feels his heart drop through a few inches- every time he comes back, something bubbles up from his stomach, joyful and fragile all at the same time. And he _keeps_ coming back. As though Remus is a quiet magnet on the fringes of the action, not where Sirius belongs… but nonetheless where he wants to be.

Remus is having an amicable conversation with an enormous guy who’s only introduced himself as Wilson when the door opens to admit even more people into the now-heaving pub. Remus would barely have noticed them, were it not for the one eye he’s keeping on Sirius: and Sirius’ reaction is enough to make him stop mid-sentence.

It’s as though all the wires that run through Sirius' limbs have been pulled taut. His head snatches up, focusing on the incomers: he looks… cornered. And viciously, violently, _sickeningly_ angry. James reaches out for him, but Sirius bats his hand away and strides forwards.

Remus is pushing himself up and following before he can even think about it.

“Don’t you _fucking_ dare,” He hears Sirius shout, over the noise of the music and general chatter, and Remus lays eyes on him again, glaring at a woman with black hair and- my God, she looks like Sirius, Remus thinks, and he’s probably the most sober here but he doesn’t feel sober enough to deal with this. The woman has three big guys behind her, and they all look as though they’re just waiting to throw a punch as Sirius yells in their faces, “Don’t you fucking _dare_ try anything, just _leave_ , _fucking leave_!”

“Sirius.” Remus presses a hand firmly on Sirius’ shoulder, trying not to be too unnerved by the note of a sob in Sirius’ voice, trying to hold it together and get him out before he gets hurt, “Come on, let’s go outside.”

Sirius doesn't even acknowledge he's there.

_He’s just drunk, does he even know her?_

But Remus can see that his question is stupid, because there’s _intent_ in the way Sirius is looking at this woman- his eyes glow with a kind of hatred that doesn’t just exist, it demands action.

“Yes, run along, Sirius,” The woman is eyeing Remus with cold, cruel interest, a razor-blade smile curling across her mouth, “Wouldn’t want mummy and daddy to hear about any of this, would we?”

Sirius lunges at her, actually lunges at her, and Remus is only just quick enough to hold him back. With his arms around him, Remus can feel him shaking. The woman only laughs.

“Look after your latest pet, won’t you?” She gives Remus one final, lingering glance, then turns towards the bar. “It’s so tiresome when you keep losing them!” Her final remark is tossed carelessly over her shoulder, and Sirius goes rigid against Remus’ hold. Then he’s wrenching away and storming out of the door, leaving Remus to trail in his wake.

The cold night air hits Remus like a relief, and he sucks in deep, calming breaths. He can still feel his heart hammering in his chest. It feels as though adrenaline and alcohol are staging a battle in his veins.

He scans the surroundings; shocked, searching-

Sirius is a dark shadow on the crowded pavement, leaning forwards like a swimmer about to dive into a pool, hands braced on his thighs. People jostle around him, an onrushing stream around a boulder.

“Sirius?” Remus asks, because he doesn’t know what else to say. He has too many questions to know where to start.

“I’m fine, Remus.” He doesn’t look up but his voice sounds like it’s full of broken glass. “You can go back inside.”

“I’m not leaving you out here,” Remus tells him. Christ, he can see Sirius still trembling from where he’s standing, five feet away.

Sirius just shakes his head.

Maybe if Remus were a little less drunk than he is, he wouldn’t have found the courage to ask his next question.

“Who was that?”

_She looked so much like you._

At least he has enough sense left not to say that.

Sirius, at last, pushes himself upright and turns to face him. His mouth is a sour grimace; his hands are still clenched into fists.

“Remus,” He says, and his voice is suddenly so controlled that it’s unnerving, “You want me to be happy around you, right?”

Remus nods, because _of course, what kind of a question is that?_ Sirius’ eyes are burning into him.

“Good. Then please don’t mention my family ever again, OK? Can you do that?”

_My family_.

The edge in his voice is painful for Remus to hear, and he can’t work out if the pain comes from just the presence of it or the fact that he might be its cause. He stands there, frozen, staring.

_This isn’t the kind of promise you can keep!_

_You can’t help him if you can’t talk to him!_

But exhaustion and alcohol and probably a bit of shock, too, drown out the screams of his rational, thinking brain. All he wants is to wipe away the agony and desperation that Sirius has been through in the past few minutes; to erase the broken edges in his tone and soothe his expression until the bitter twist has gone from his mouth.

So he nods. And he says, “OK.”

And maybe, in the brief moment after, he catches a fleeting glimpse of how much he’ll live to regret it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are starting to build to a head, aren't they...
> 
> I love hearing your thoughts and opinions!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reading week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah, I know I say this every time but wow? The feedback on this fic is astounding? Thank you all so much!
> 
> A bit of a longer chapter this time. I can't see any warnings, but if you notice something then let me know.
> 
> Translations: Mabi fi = My baby (Welsh to English, according to the internet)

“Oh, sweetheart. Let me look at you!”

“Mum…” But Remus is smiling anyway, he can’t help himself. His nostrils are full of the smell of orchid perfume and the faint tang of bleach, and he just keeps grinning at Hope Lupin as she braces her hands on his shoulders and scans him up and down. He does the same to her.

She’s looking well, he thinks. Her hair is almost more silver than mahogany-toned now, and her forehead is furrowed with deep lines, but right now it’s the smile lines fanning her hazel eyes that are deeply creased with joy. Every time he goes home, it surprises him how much smaller she is than him now. He pulls her into another hug, just because he can.

“Ah, mabi fi,” She sighs, “I’m so glad you’re home.”

“Me too, mum.” Remus squeezes her until she laughs and squirms before he finally releases her.

“Ah, get on with you! Come on, your dad should be home by the time we get back.”

Remus hoists his bag onto his shoulder and follows her across the busy road as the coach lets out a loud hiss and begins to pull away from the pavement.

 

His mum drives home. Remus sits in the passenger seat and listens to the familiar sound of the radio mixing with the rattling of cleaning supplies in the boot. It takes him back to a thousand other car drives through darkening streets; trying to snatch sentences of the book he was reading in the fleeting bars of light from the streetlamps they passed under; listening to his mum singing along softly to some old-timey song; dreading whatever homework she might decide to set him in the morning.

“So, what have you got to tell me?”

Remus shifts his gaze from the window to his mum’s profile. When she senses him looking at her, she smiles.

“You’ve been quiet for the past few weeks- I know when something’s weighing on your mind.” She clicks her indicator on and turns the radio down whilst they wait at a junction. Remus doesn’t bother asking how she knows. She’s his mum. He takes a deep breath, and wonders where to begin: the spectre of Sirius hovers over his shoulder, swimming before his eyes.

The whole coach journey, he’d been trying to keep his mind away from him, because every time he thinks about him the memory of their last meeting plays out before his eyes and his chest tightens up. He’d left Sirius on the pavement with James at his shoulder, because Lily had called and told him in no uncertain terms that she was waking him up with a bucket of water over his head regardless of how late he got in because he had _a fucking essay to write_ , and he’d shared a brief, brittle hug with Sirius and then they’d parted. That was last Saturday and they’d barely spoken since.

“I… I met someone. Not,” He hastens to add, “In that way.” His vocal cords feel tight, the way they always do when he’s divulging something he’s been keeping close to his chest. “It’s just…”

_Just that I’m dropping down a rabbit hole and I can’t see the bottom-_

_Just that I’m worried that he’s as broken as I am and we’re both going to hurt each other-_

_Just that I can’t control any of this and I hate it but I love it and I can’t find it in me to stop-_

“It’s just that,” He swallows, “I think we might have fallen out, a bit.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“I think I pissed him off the last time I saw him,” Remus means to say it wryly but it comes out just sad, and he regrets it instantly. But his mum only says,

“So it’s a him?”

Remus rolls his eyes, but then checks himself. “I’ve never actually asked. But he’s never corrected me.”

“Mmm.”

A brief silence ensues.

“You know I don’t mean to pry into your affairs, Remus, but… Is it really ‘not in that way’? Only…”

Remus sighs. His mum has the knack of hearing all the things he leaves unsaid.

“I know,” He says, “I _know_. But I don’t know if I can- if he wants-” Remus grinds to a halt before he can say anything too close to the bone and redirects. “Like I said, we had a- a falling out. Or something like that.”

“OK. And you haven’t spoken since?” God, he’s missed this: his mum’s straightforwardness, the way she just strides up to a problem and asks it politely to move out of the way. It’s not the same when they’re not together; good advice doesn’t seem to translate as well over Skype.

“No,” Remus replies, “I sort of- don’t know what to say.”

“Something’s usually better than nothing,” She points out, and smiles when he frowns at her. “Oh, pet. Ask him if he’s looking forward to reading week. That should be safe enough ground.” Her voice is lightly teasing, but not making fun of him.

“Hmm,” Is all Remus says, but that’s only because-

“You know I’m right.”

Remus laughs, and his mum laughs at him laughing, and then they’re passing the familiar sign of their tiny village and turning into their road.

“So, are we telling dad about this?” She asks, slowing down and getting ready to park.

Remus considers, then shakes his head. It’s not, in any way, shape, or form, that his dad doesn’t agree with his sexuality. He’d come out to both his parents when he was thirteen, it was hardly a big deal by now. But Remus has always been on more of a need to know basis with his dad- and did he need to know about Sirius? No. Not until Remus is sure.

His mum nods her acknowledgement, “Alright then.” The car comes to a halt; she pulls up the handbrake and turns off the engine. “Let’s get inside, shall we? Sausages and mash for dinner!”

Remus smiles and allows himself to relax into the easy routine of being home.

 

**Remus** : looking forward to reading week?

He sends that on the Sunday morning just before they leave the house and leaves his phone behind in an attempt to put off disappointment. It kind of works. Maybe it’s sad and uncool, but Remus deeply enjoys spending time with his parents. His dad quizzes him lightly about his course and they discuss the upcoming welsh international games as they trail Hope around the garden centre and local market (autumn’s already turning, what they could possibly need for their postage-stamp lawn Remus doesn’t know- but nor does he particularly care).

“And you’ve got friends?” His dad asks as they walk past various ornamental fountains (Remus is particularly taken with an abstract metal flamingo shooting water from its beak- he considers taking a picture and sending it to Sirius, but he abstains) with the tactless care unique to Lyall Lupin. He’s tall, in direct contrast to Hope, and stockier than Remus thanks to years of hard work up ladders and on scaffolding. Remus smiles, both at the question and the fact that he can answer it honestly.

“Yeah, dad, I have friends. Lily’s got a new boyfriend,” He raises his voice slightly so his mum, a couple of strides ahead, can hear, “And he’s a decent guy- we get on well.”

“Really? What’s he like?” His mum calls, bending over a tray of bedraggled lavender plants.

Remus tells her about James, and how Peter managed seventy percent in his last class test, and about Lily’s latest obsession with re-watching every single episode of Glee. He tells his dad about the furious debate he’d had with his seminar tutor over emotional abuse in Shakespeare, and about watching James play rugby (although definitely not about what happened after, definitely not about the way Sirius shook in his arms and sounded so brittle and broken on the pavement just before Remus walked away) and then about Peter making them all lasagne a few nights ago simply because he felt like it. And his mum natters on about Mrs Figg with her seven cats and how the hair has started to infest her cleaning overalls, and Mr Morris who managed to spill red wine and soy sauce on the same spot on his white carpet and how Mr Fletcher from across the street has finally finished his community service and is considering moving to London to make a fresh start. His dad mostly listens; but that’s how it usually is in their little family.

A warmth rises up inside Remus’ chest throughout the day at the feeling of being home.

When he’s helped carry the shopping inside and made tea, he climbs the narrow stairs two at a time (carefully cradling his mug) and cautiously pushes his bedroom door open. His phone is lying where he left it: face up on his bedspread, and he watches it until the little green light alerting a message flickers on and off.

**Sirius** : a week alone and abandoned by all those who care for me

but of course

 

He’d then sent a crying emoji- the one that looked to be wailing dramatically, rather than any of the subtler options. Remus inhales a gulp of tea and considers how to reply, trying to ignore the frankly excessive emotions the mere fact that _Sirius was no longer ignoring him_ had provoked.

**Remus** : surely that’s just a license to cause trouble

 

It’s the safest thing he can think of as memory clouds the space behind his eyes like wisps of smoke.

_“Never mention my family again.”_

Remus twitches his head from side to side, trying to dislodge the razor-sharp voice from between his ears.

**Message read, 16:44**

**Sirius** : causing trouble is boring on ur own

**Remus** : has Marlene gone home too?

**Sirius** : unfortunately

even jame has left me

I might be forced into doing actual work to stave off boredom

**Remus** : what a tragedy

**Sirius** : I’m glad you understand

**Remus** : the situation is truly grave

**Sirius** : it truly is

so how does it feel being a betraying abandoner?

 

Remus almost, almost types _I was under the impression we weren’t talking_ , but at the last minute his nerves fail him and he deletes it.

**Remus** : wonderful, thanks for asking

Home cooked food and laundry done for me

It’s like utopia

**Sirius** : so fickle

leaving me for another pair of hands to load and unload the washing machine

**Remus** : I’m sorry, things just weren’t working out between us

**Sirius** : I can make it up to you? ;)

**Remus** : I’m not sure I want to hear your ideas

**Sirius** : come to the sisters with me on the fifteenth

friends of friends are gigging

sisters is a gay club but it’s not like they ban bisexuals

**Remus** : oh, you’re serious

Argh!

**Sirius** : … walked right into that one Moony

**Remus** : Rephrase

You are sincere in your intentions

**Sirius** : guess I am

didn’t mean to be a dick last weekend

drag you into my shit

all that

 

Remus can feel his eyebrows quirking in confusion, because that’s _his_ line; and somehow he hadn’t been expecting an apology. He swallows, and considers his response carefully.

**Remus** : I’m no expert, but I’m fairly sure that’s the point of friends

**Sirius** : ‘friends’

**Remus** : this is a highly uncomfortable conversation

**Sirius** : too fucking right

but what u really want to say is

WHAT ARE WE?!?!?!?!?!

am I right??

**Remus** : oh god

I hope I never in my life say anything that requires more than one ?!

But… I concede your point

**Sirius** : if I ask u out on a date and u accept we are dating

it is the law

so remu

will you go on a date with me to the sisters on the fifteenth?

**Remus** : yes, Sirius, I will go on a date with you

**Sirius** : are u smiling rn??

I can picture u smiling u little shit

**Remus** : allow me my dignity, man!

**Sirius** : never!!!

 

But later, when Remus goes down for dinner, his mum raises her eyebrows at the expression on his face.

 

Halloween falls on a Wednesday that year, and Remus dons a pointy black hat with as much grace as he can muster and mans the front door. The time passes in a blur of children, long-suffering parents and messages from Sirius: the children are tiny and sweet, the parents entertaining, and Sirius is just… Sirius.

**Sirius** : I need to see u in that hat

**Remus** : no

**Sirius** : i

need

it

**Remus** : forgive me for not caring

And so on. Their easy conversations continue through the week, until Remus’ little haven of peace is over and he climbs back on board the coach with a bag in his hands and the feeling of his parent’s embraces still leaving an impression on his shoulders.

 

Remus arrives back to Flat 1, number 27, Godric Street with next to no fanfare. Leaving his parents always has a slightly destabilising effect on him, so he tries to bury himself in routine as much as possible- reading through Peter’s lab report (the boy has no grasp of basic grammar, and not even spell-check can cope with half of his words), commiserating with Lily as they both frantically try to catch up on all the reading they should have done over the past week, whilst outside the windows the entire student population seems to be determined to remind them of how much fun they're missing out on.

“You know, I think they call it ‘Reading Week’ for a reason,” Pete remarks, coming into the kitchen at one o clock on Saturday morning to find them both hunched over stacks of books and mugs of lukewarm hot chocolate, “I mean, I think you’re actually supposed to do the reading- get this- _in the week_.”

Lily balls up a post-it note and throws it at him. She misses.

“ _Technically_ ,” Remus yawns through the word (going home also has the effect of normalising his sleeping patterns to a certain degree), “It’s still Reading Week. The weekend counts.”

Lily, eyes looking a little glassy, nods in agreement. Pete watches them for a moment, then relents.

“Would you like a fresh hot chocolate?”

“I bloody love you, Peter,” Lily sighs, and Remus plies him with thanks and the promise of all the proof-reading he could ever want. Peter just waves them both away and reaches for the kettle, and Remus feels a guilty squirm in the pit of his stomach when, five minutes later, a steaming mug is set in front of him.

Because this is Peter, the giving, inscrutable, slightly frenetic friend who always seems to think that unless he does everything he can and a little bit more, Lily and Remus will turn their backs and abandon him. Remus wants to shake him sometimes, tell him that he doesn’t need to be so… Just so _Peter_ , but he’s never got up the courage. He’s afraid of what that would do to their friendship, somehow. Afraid of what that kind of security might give Peter the permission to do, or say.

_God, what am I thinking?_

“Remus! Earth to Remus! _Fifty pages left to go_ , Remus!” Lily waves a hand in front of his eyes, and he drags them back into focus. Right. Fifty pages. He can do this.

 

He just about does it, although his contribution to his second seminar is shaky at best. When he gets home, he actually starts planning out a framework for his next assessed essay (Lily mock faints, which Remus doesn’t find funny at all) and bakes a cake, and tries not to think about the fact that now it’s only five days until…

Until he sees Sirius.

The ‘date’ (Remus still can’t take that word seriously, not when it’s applied to him) has been hovering below the surface of his thoughts all day- and through all of yesterday, and the days before that- not that he’d admit it. He can’t work out which aspect of it is the most anxiety-inducing: Sirius, the venue, Sirius, the activity, _Sirius_.

_I’m nervous because I care_ , he tells himself, and that makes him feel even worse. It’s been a long time since he’s _cared_. He’s not used to it.

He admits everything to Lily on Wednesday, when she finds him baking a batch of welsh cakes for the third time in as many days. He’d worked a few shifts behind the bar at the local back at home, and the money had gone in his Emergency Jam Jar- then come straight out again, to be turned into flour and sugar and raisins, and thence into flat, sweet cakes that melted in the mouth but most importantly gave him an hour or so when the buzzing on the inside of his ears was quieter, the sharp edges inside his mind smoothed over a little.

“A DATE?!” Lily shrieks, as though she’s never heard of such a thing before, and Remus feels no guilt about covering her mouth with a floury hand and glaring her into silence. He removes his palm after a few seconds and feels a perverse satisfaction at her disgusted face.

“Bastard! Is it or is it not a date?”

Fuck, she has him there.

“It… is a date,” He admits, opening the oven to unnecessarily check on the cakes just to avoid looking at her.

“See!” Lily hits him in the arm. “When? What are you doing? Where are you going? What are you wearing?”

“Calm down, the Spanish Inquisition,” Remus reluctantly emerges from the oven and turns to face her, “It’s on Saturday.” Saying out loud makes his stomach squirm again.

“ _And_? Details, before I fetch the thumbscrews!”

“You’re scary,” Remus tells her, “You do know that?”

“Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!” Lily cackles maniacally, and Remus can’t help but laugh.

“OK, OK! Saturday, we’re going to the Weird Sisters to see a band play. I do not have a clue what I’m wearing.”

“That is bloody fantastic, Remus. I feel like I want to shout it from the rooftops. REMUS LUPIN HAS A DATE.”

“I give up. I don’t know why I tell you anything.”

“Peter’s not here, so I can! REMUS LUPIN HAS A DATE!”

Remus retreats into what he hopes is a dignified silence and retrieves his baking tray. Perfect. The cakes, that is.

“OK, OK, I’m sorry. I’m calm.”

“Are you sure?” Remus asks her, “I can give you a few more minutes to be childish if you need it.”

Lily cuffs him round the head.

“Aren’t you excited, though?” She leans over his shoulder and tries to pinch a welsh cake between her neon pink thumbnail and forefinger. “Fuck, that’s hot!”

“That’s generally the point of an oven. And… I’m trying not to get my hopes up.”

Remus doesn’t intend the words to come out so gloomy, but they do because it’s _true_. He can’t get his hopes up, because the closer Sirius gets to him the easier it will be for him to see- well, everything. Everything that Remus wants to hide.

But Lily doesn’t seem to notice, doesn’t pick up on it, because she’s only human after all and anyway, Remus can’t expect her to realise that what he needs is for someone to tell him that of course he’s scared but sometimes, just sometimes, the universe can be beautiful and unexpected and perfect all at once and that maybe, this time, he’ll get what he wants. That maybe, this time, he’ll actually deserve it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, I've used up my buffer of pre-written chapters, so from now on updates will be more sporadic, but don't worry- I'm determined to see this through. The next chapter is a big one!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! Kudos, comments, general discussion and chit-chat are indescribably wonderful.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The date and the morning after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is... A Big One. Gosh, I'm nervous to post this! I've been mulling it over ever since this crazy idea came into my head and it's given me so much grief, but I think I've got it to a point where it's OK.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who's stuck with the story so far. Thank you for all the kudos and comments! Feedback on this chapter would be especially wonderful to me.
> 
> Warnings: I'm struggling with how to word this but a sexual situation that has one character worried? Nobody is pressured into anything though! Reference to self-harm scars. As always, if you notice anything else that you think should be included then let me know.

It’s hot and dark and a drumbeat pulses through Remus’ bones like a second heartbeat. Sirius has a hold of his hand, and although sweat is gathering where their skin presses together, Remus wouldn’t let go for anything. Never mind the fact that he’d probably be lost and disorientated in two seconds, stranded in the middle of the heaving crowd- this is _Sirius_. Sirius is holding his hand. He’d probably walk off the edge of a cliff right now, if that’s where Sirius led him.

The band haven’t even started playing yet, but the club is already heaving. Remus has never set foot inside The Weird Sisters before, and is thankful he listened to Lily’s advice and wore old shoes: the floor seems determined to grab hold of his soles every time he takes a step. Above their heads, people sway and shout on the mezzanine, blue and green strobe lights winking off what Remus assumes is a semi-ironic glitter ball spinning above the dancefloor. The stage at the back is shrouded in darkness; only the pole of a microphone is visible. The bar is serving in plastic glasses.

“It’s usually classier than this!” Sirius had shouted at him when they’d got their drinks; that’s the only way to communicate in here, shouting over the thumping bass, and surely that’s part of the reason Remus has never been here. He hates shouting. But, he thinks, as Sirius tugs his hand and their bodies collide together somewhere in the middle of the dancefloor, it’s a sacrifice he’s willing to make.

When Remus had caught a glimpse of Sirius waiting for him in the street outside, he’d had to momentarily check his step. He’d looked- he still looks- like the boy all mothers warned their daughters about, all ripped jeans and tight shirt and a lazy grin curling the corner of his mouth; that grin was for Remus, when he spotted him, and my God-

Remus wanted to kiss it right off his face. He still does, actually.

“OK?” Sirius yells, close to Remus’ ear, and, if anything, holding onto Remus tighter. Remus nods. How could he _not_ be OK, when Sirius looks at him like that?

Suddenly, the swirling strobe lights shut off. People whoop and cheer as the music fades out, too. Remus’ heart is thrumming somewhere at the base of his throat, the sheer energy of the place infecting him faster than a disease.

“Ladies and gentlemen, those who are both and neither,” A deep voice comes over the sound system, and the excitement seems to reach fever pitch, “We are Stubby and the Boardwalks. Enjoy.”

On stage, white light flares as a wall of sound smashes outwards from the guitar and drums, and Remus knows he should be watching but all he can do is stare at Sirius.

Under the lights and surfing on the ebb and flow of energy around them, Sirius is something else. He looks incandescent, glowing, so bright that his delineations are etched out like a small sun. When he looks up at Remus, his smile nearly burns. Light gleams off one of his canine teeth. Remus suddenly can’t breathe.

Then Sirius looks almost… Shy. His gaze drops away. His fingers entwine with Remus’, pulling their hands together until they settle on Remus’ waist. His lips move, as though he wants to say something. Remus, without thinking, leans down, just as Sirius looks back up.

It’s messy and uncoordinated to start with but they’re kissing, _Sirius is kissing him_ and Remus is shooting upwards and his heart is somehow freed itself from his chest, it’s beating that hard. Sirius licks along Remus’ bottom lip and Remus convulsively clutches his hand harder, but Sirius just smiles into their kiss and pushes for more.

Remus has no idea how long they stand there. He’s lost to the push and play of it; drunk on the taste of beer on Sirius' tongue; beguiled as Sirius sways closer; fucking intoxicated by the sharp sounds of Sirius’ breathing whenever they break away only to crash back together seconds later. His heart is beating so hard he thinks he might be sick, but he never wants this moment to end, never, never, never.

So when Sirius cups the back of his head and pulls him down to yell, “Do you want to go back to mine?” in his ear, Remus is helpless, really. His head is too full, his lips too swollen, and why isn’t Sirius still kissing him, why, why? The song has changed, has it really been that long? Hasn’t it been _longer_?

“Remus?” Sirius’ eyes are so dark, and Remus wonders if they’re deep enough to swallow him whole.

In that moment, he’s seized with the realisation that somehow, it’s too late to back out now; he can’t see the surface and even if his lungs are burning, like they are right now, he’d give anything to keep swimming down. He’d do _anything_.

 _I can’t let this go-_ he thinks, panicked, but some strange kind of rationality comes to him. It doesn’t sound like Lily, but it will do.

_So don’t. Go with him._

And, he thinks, I will.

The decision explodes inside him, a firework, and maybe it’s too close and too much but Remus is going with it anyway. He searches for Sirius’ lips; finds them; kisses him again (God, God, God). And then he leans his forehead against Sirius’, just so he knows he’ll be able to feel it when he nods.

_His smile-_

_I can’t let this go, I can’t, God help me but I can’t-_

Their hands are still joined as they worm their way out through the crowd, past the bouncers and into the frigid air, and Remus’ heart crows with joy as he thinks of the last time he followed Sirius out onto a darkened street- so sharp and tense and fearful, and now-

Sirius slings an arm around Remus’ shoulders, and he has to reach up to do it, his hair falling in his eyes; and then he’s laughing, fucking _laughing_ , and Remus just looks down at him as they start walking, and somehow he’s not thinking at all.

For now, that’s kind of blissful.

 

It’s only when they’ve unlocked the big, black front door and scrambled up the staircase that Remus’ brain wakes up again, but Sirius has his arm still hooked around him and then they’re pushing into his flat and stumbling inside and by then it’s too late, because Sirius descends on him again.

The way Sirius kisses him now- God, it’s like he’s at war. There’s _intent_ burning in the way he moves against Remus’ mouth; urgency as one hand grips the back of Remus’ neck; and the way his body pins Remus against the door- every move seems calculated to assault his senses and overwhelm him as quickly as possible.

 _Well_ , Remus thinks dizzily, _it’s fucking working_.

He’s desperately trying to keep up, or maybe hold on- it feels like the ground has been wrenched away from him and he can’t work out if he’s flying or falling. He fists a hand in Sirius’ t-shirt, attempting to ground himself, but Sirius gasps into his mouth at the feeling and Remus is falling harder than ever. His world has narrowed to the sensations of the unyielding surface at his back and the hot, insistent slide of Sirius’ tongue against his own and the way his heart and brain seem to be rattling in tandem towards an edge he can’t see off of.

Falling or flying? _Falling or flying?_

_Maybe if I take back control-_

_Maybe if I just go along with it-_

_Maybe if I-_

_Maybe-_

Sirius pulls back from him and all Remus can see is his face, and a fierce, fervent grin pulled across that beautiful mouth- but it doesn’t make him happy, it makes his stomach jolt as though he’s been doused with icy water. Sirius’ expression changes in an instant.

“Moony?”

All of a sudden, he’s shaking, because he can’t take this, he wants it so much, _too_ much and he can’t take it, he can’t hold all this inside himself without falling to pieces. He feels Sirius loosen his grip viscerally, a blow in reverse.

“Is this OK?” Sirius asks, softly, and Remus wants to say yes, yes this is OK, this is more than OK, this is-

This is-

And then he’s shaking his head and stumbling away, staggering to the nearest chair and dropping into it, his head falling into his hands.

 _Christ_.

“I’m sorry,” He’s murmuring, because what else can he say, and even though those two words aren’t enough they’re all he’s got, “I’m sorry.”

The brief silence that ensues is just enough time for his heart to start crumbling.

“Moony?” Sirius says behind him, so _tentatively_ that Remus can barely take it, “I- um-… what do you need?”

Remus nearly cries.

“I- I just-” After he’s taken a few moments to breathe, he manages to lift his head from his hands, and Sirius looks so worried that he nearly breaks down all over again, “Can you- can you stay? Please?”

It doesn’t make sense and the last word is full of cracks, but Sirius seems to understand him anyway. When Remus feels his hands come to rest on his shoulders, he finds his voice again, the warmth of Sirius’ palms against him somehow freeing up his vocal cords.

“I’m sorry, Sirius. I’m sorry.”

“Honestly, Moony,” Sirius sighs- and Remus braces himself for the blow he deserves- “When will you stop apologising for things that aren’t your fault?” Sirius crouches down in front of him, his eyes clear and calm and so goddamn _patient_. Remus can hardly meet his eyes without feeling the back of his throat sting; so he lets his head fall onto Sirius’ shoulder and just breathes in his smell, trying to soothe his still-racing heart. He wants to argue- because this _is_ his fault, it so obviously is- but he can’t find the energy. He’s wrung out, washed up, still feeling failure stab straight through the centre of his chest…

But, somehow, Sirius hasn’t left yet. That’s all that’s keeping him steady at the moment.

“It’s OK,” Sirius murmurs, and he sounds a little stilted but Remus appreciates the effort, nonetheless, “You’re OK.”

A sick, bitter laugh twists inside his throat at that. He is _not_ OK. He can’t even handle kissing someone without being halfway to a fucking panic attack, what kind of fucked up and broken is that?

 _The kind that’s unlovable_.

Jesus, he really might cry now.

He takes a few deep breaths to steady himself, and Sirius seems to take that as a sign that he’s recovering.

“We’re not going to do anything you don’t want to do.” His breath ruffles the back of Remus’ hair, his voice light and unbothered. “I’m not perfect, but I’m not-”

 _Why do you keep saying that?_ Remus wonders.

“What?”

Oh, he’d wondered out loud, apparently.

“That you’re- I don’t know, imperfect, a shitty human being, all that.” Remus is glad he can’t see Sirius’ face as he says it. An interior warning bell has begun to jangle.

There’s a tense silence.

“Because my ego would be the size of a house if I didn’t have some sort of self-regulating mechanism.” Sirius jokes, but it falls flat in Remus’ ears: something’s off in his tone. He takes a deep breath intending to press the point further, but Sirius stiffens and cuts him off.

“No, Moony. We’re not going there.”

The warning is very faint, but present nonetheless, and in that moment Remus decides to just let it go. All the adrenaline has been gradually leaking away over the past few seconds, leaving him boneless and dog-tired, and he just wants to sleep. He contemplates the walk home, in the cold and the dark with only his gnawing thoughts for company, and grimaces. Sirius softly squeezes his shoulders.

“OK, I’m going to go and have a shower-” It’s Remus’ turn to tense up, because he hadn’t thought- hadn’t even considered- is Sirius _hard_ for him? The idea makes him feel hot and ashamed at the same time. Sirius sits back and grins at the expression on his face, “- Well, _obviously_. And you can, um, decide where you want to sleep. Y’know, there’s the guest bedroom- there’s no sheets on the bed but I don’t mind making it up. Or there’s my bed- if you- like I said, we’ll just-”

“You’re one of those people who’s incapable of saying the word ‘cuddle’ aren’t you?” Remus says, dully, trying to disguise the fact that he feels like something is crushing his chest at the idea that he’s fucked things up so totally between them that Sirius thinks he wants to sleep in the _guest bedroom_. Sirius only laughs.

“So, my bed?”

Remus finally, finally lifts his head.

“Yeah. Your bed.”

Sirius leaves him in the bedroom with pyjama bottoms, a hoody and a brief kiss that sends Remus reeling, just a little. Then he grins wickedly and brushes past him into the bathroom. Remus waits until he can hear the sound of running water before stripping out of his jeans and shirt as quickly as he can. The neat lines of scars that run down his thighs and across his biceps flash tauntingly in the dim light as he pulls on the borrowed clothing, _hide them, hide them, hide them_ running through his head.

 _Don’t you trust him?_ A voice sing-songs, in the dark space in his brain.

 _Well, I obviously trust him, given that I’m about to sleep in the same bed_ , Remus argues back, but all that achieves is a new sense of apprehension thrumming into his bones; and while he knows that it’s anxiety-emotion, not rational thought or even gut intuition, the knowing doesn’t get rid of it. He sits stiffly on the edge of the bed and waits for Sirius to return. He wants to distract himself, but there’s nothing in here, really: just a cluttered desk, a few drunkenly sloping shelves, a wardrobe big enough to hide several dozen Narnias and the bare white walls.

Just as he’s trying to formulate some way to maybe talk about it, to _explain_ \- _hey, Sirius, you know how I’m already a bit fucked up? Well, that’s not even the half of it_ \- there’s a sound from the bathroom. Over the noise of the water, Sirius lets out this rough, choked-off groan, and Remus feels it burning in his face and jolting straight down to his cock, because that’s the sound…

 _Oh, God_.

Remus buries his head in his hands, and tries to pull himself together.

He’s mostly under control by the time Sirius saunters back into the room, his hair wet and grin firmly in place. Thankfully, he’d taken clothes with him into the bathroom, so Remus doesn’t have to deal with the sight of him in a towel, but even so, just looking at him reminds Remus that Sirius has just come in the shower, maybe come thinking about him, maybe mouthing his name; and _that_ makes his brain feel like it’s vibrating inside his skull. Sirius doesn’t seem to notice.

“Up to you which side of the bed you want,” He says, casually, switching on a desk lamp and turning off the main bulb. The softer light makes everything seem more intimate: Remus’ heart beats harder. “I tend to take up most of the bed anyway.”

“OK.” Remus takes the side he’d been sitting on, the one closest to the door. The side he’d deposited Sirius on, that night when he’d been so drunk he could barely stand. Now, though, the sheets smell clean, and Sirius is climbing in on the other side, pulling the covers over them.

“C’mere,” Sirius mutters, and Remus feels an arm gently wriggling round his shoulders, insistently tugging him closer. He shuffles across until his head is resting on Sirius’ chest, his whole body pressed alongside Sirius’, and he can hear the other boy’s heartbeat- and his mouth is dry because this is so, _so_ perfect and he’s terrified that he’s going to ruin it.

“You OK?” Sirius asks. His hand is stroking restively over Remus’ shoulder, occasionally grazing the bare skin at the back of his neck, short-circuiting Remus’ brain one neuron at a time.

“Yeah,” Remus manages to get out. All the clever words he’d been trying to find in his moments alone have utterly deserted him. He can only think,

_Please,_

_Please don’t leave_.

Sirius huffs out a sigh, then moves under him, and Remus freezes- thinking that somehow, Sirius has heard what he’s thinking and is disengaging now, while he still can- but no, he’s just reaching out to turn off the light.

The darkness seems to amplify their breathing in Remus’ ears, great gusts out, whispery rushes in. Sirius’ heart is cannon fire in slow motion. All the places where their bodies are pressed against each other feel so warm that they’re almost burning- but Remus would happily burn forever, if it meant he could stay like this. Neither of them say anything.

Sleep only claims him when he can no longer fight it.

 

***

 

Remus jerks awake and for one disorientating moment he has no idea where he is, why there’s someone else in bed with him- and then his sleep-fogged brain remembers and his heart begins to slow. It’s still pitch black; dawn must be hours away yet. Remus has no idea what has woken him- until Sirius twitches beside him. He’s flat on his back, one arm cast across Remus’ chest, his eyelids shivering like he’s desperately trying to wake up. Remus freezes, watching him.

“Regulus.”

Remus sucks in a breath, sure Sirius _has_ woken up. His voice is so clear: and so desperate, so _pleading_ , that Remus’ heart seems to tremble with it. But no- in the dim light, Remus can just make out his face, and his eyes are still closed.

“Regulus,” Sirius begs, “ _Regulus_. No!”

His whole body jerks and he lets out a strangled cry. His eyes fly open. Remus stares at him, mouth dry, listening to Sirius’ harsh breathing. Sirius pulls his arm back from where it’s lying across Remus, shakily bringing his hands up to his face and covering his eyes. Remus’ heart drops in his chest- is Sirius _hiding_ from him? But after a few moments, Sirius’ breathing slips back into a deeper rhythm. His hands fall away, his eyes closed and still once more. It’s as though Remus isn’t there at all.

This time, it takes him even longer to fall asleep.

 

***

 

“Morning, sleepyhead.”

Remus stirs groggily and groans. Well, not so much a groan- more of a half-hearted growl. From somewhere above him, someone chuckles.

“Wake up, Moony. You’re too cute when you sleep, I might actually have to take a picture.”

At that, Remus cracks an eye open and glares into the criminally bright light.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” He’s trying to sound threatening, but his voice comes out weak and snarled and frankly about as threatening as a kitten wearing a bobble hat.

Sirius slowly comes into focus, sitting up in bed beside him. His hair is all over the place, eyes a cool shade of grey in the flat light leaking in through the curtains, and looking at him makes Remus’ heart do a backflip.

“Who’s to say I haven’t already?” Sirius smirks down at him and reaches a hand to run through Remus’ hair. Remus tries not to obviously shudder at his touch, then grimaces as a whiff of stale sweat reaches his nostrils.

“I need a shower,” He mutters, eyes drifting closed despite his best efforts, “It’s not fair that you smell nice and I don’t.”

Sirius laughs again. “Fine. I suppose I’ll let you level up the playing field.” His fingernails scratch gently over the skin behind Remus’ ear, and Remus feels his breath catch in his chest.

After a few minutes, Remus stirs again.

“ _Shower_ ,” He murmurs, trying to make the point that he can’t lie here _forever_ (even though he’d like to, he’d very much like to).

“Fine,” Sirius sighs, and lifts his hand away. “I’ll fetch you a towel. I might even make you breakfast, if you’re lucky.”

“Heavens,” Remus remarks dryly, “You know how to treat a man right.”

“Only the best for my Moony.” Sirius winks at him and climbs off the bed, totally oblivious to the fact that Remus’ brain has suddenly slammed awake and almost started a riot.

_My Moony._

_Mine_.

The pleasant buzz that has been humming in Remus’ chest all morning lasts for precisely ten more minutes, until he’s standing under the (constant pressure, constant temperature, very nice change from normal) shower and the memory of last night comes back to him. Not the fact that he’d nearly had a panic attack over Sirius wanting to have sex with him- although recalling that makes him feel cold and tight all over- no, it was the memory of waking in the dark whilst Sirius gasped and pleaded with someone in his dreams.

Regulus. Who was Regulus?

Remus wanders into the kitchen some time later, dressed in his clothes from the night before (he’d debated borrowing something of Sirius’, but in the end his nerve had failed him) and following the smell of toast. Nerves roil in the pit of his stomach: but he’s fairly sure he’ll never forgive himself if he doesn’t go through with this, so there is that. The sight of Sirius wearing pyjama bottoms, a white t-shirt and wielding a spatula nearly undoes him, though.

“You’re alive!” Sirius throws a crooked smile over his shoulder, then reaches for a pack of bacon. “I was wondering if you’d gone back to sleep.”

There’s a moment of silence whilst Remus marshals his courage. Sirius doesn’t seem to notice.

Now or never.

“Who’s Regulus?” He asks, and watches as Sirius freezes in place. There’s a beat where they both hang in suspension, nothing moving, only the soft gurgling of the boiler disturbing the silence.

“Where did you hear that name?” Sirius uses the same tone of voice he’d used on the pavement outside the Four Founders; it’s as though Remus has flicked a switch. Every line of Sirius' body has instantly become icy, taut, _controlled_.

Remus can barely register his heart beating.

“You- you said it last night. In your sleep.”

 _I heard you begging with them, I heard you plead, and then it was like nothing had ever happened_.

Sirius doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then-

“Don’t mention him again, Moony.” Sirius tells him in that brittle, sharp way, and as he turns away Remus feels something spike inside his chest. Something that feels a little like… _anger_. Because somehow, he’d _known_ how Sirius was going to respond before he’d even asked. And this time, he’s not going to accept it.

“Sirius-”

“Drop. It.” Sirius still won’t look at him.

“Why? If you’d just tell me why-”

“ _Drop it_ , Moony.”

Now Sirius’ shoulders are tense, his words coming down like knives into a table top, but the flame of anger is only flaring hotter in Remus’ abdomen. Because how can Sirius invite him into his house, into his bed, watch him with soft eyes and caress his skin with soft hands and still refuse to let Remus _in_?

“I want to _help_ , Sirius, if you’d just tell me-”

Unknowingly, unthinkingly, Remus crosses some invisible line, and like a spark leaping towards a fuse, it’s too quick to register until it’s caught alight. Sirius spins around to face him, and his eyes are ablaze.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Remus! Just! Fucking! DROP! IT!”

It’s like the white noise after an explosion. Remus has never heard anyone shout like that before; never imagined Sirius so vicious, so violent and angry, not here, not towards _him_. He’s shaking, Remus can see it. His beautiful face is a mask of fury.

A sudden realisation crashes over Remus in that moment of stillness: that something has broken, fractured between them. Maybe, in those few seconds, one of them still has the chance to repair it, to say something that will make it better. But neither of them move. Neither of them speak. And Remus, feeling sick and shattered and like he’s going to pass out, picks up his jacket from the back of the chair and walks, a ringing sound in his ears, out of the door, down the stairs and out into the street.

He looks down at his hands. They’re trembling.

 _I broke it_ , he finds himself thinking, and that’s the last thing he remembers for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm kind of envisioning Stubby and the Boardwalks as having a similar sound to The 1975- I pretty much wrote this chapter listening to I like it when you sleep, for you are so beautiful yet so unaware of it (the album, as opposed to the song).  
> In other news... Sorry?  
> Please, please let me know what you thought, this chapter has been a big one for me.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your patience and kindness with the last chapter, I quite literally love you all.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: self-harm and a dissociative episode.

Molly Weasley is used to dealing with crises. Only that morning, Arthur had somehow managed to set the toaster on fire- it had been Molly who dived for the fire blanket as the smoke alarm shrieked angrily. She feels the same kind of lurch when she opens their front door several hours later to find Remus leaning against the jamb, his eyes half closed and blood gathering around his cuticles. She instinctively reaches towards him, thinking to comfort- but she isn’t so blind as to miss the way he draws back from her touch, like a turtle retreating into its shell. She swallows down every motherly instinct that has ever possessed her and takes her hand back.

“Do you want to come in, Remus?” She asks him, trying to keep her voice level. Showing him that she’s calm, leading by example.

His response comes a half-second too late. But he nods all the same, and Molly lets out a breath she hadn’t even realised she’d been holding.

“OK. Come downstairs?”

Again, the delayed nod. As he passes her, her eyes are drawn to the bright blood gathering around his nails. It looks painful, but she doesn’t know how to ask him if she can bind his wounds. He seems so… fragile. Of course, she’s seen Remus panicked and anxious and flying out of his skin, but never before has she seen him so disconnected from everything, so vague and obviously broken underneath. It scares her. So she does the only thing she can think of: she sits Remus down, makes a pot of tea, and calls the number Remus gave her a long time ago, when they first met. A woman’s voice answers.

“Hey, this is Lily.”

Lily. Molly remembers that name, the pretty red-headed girl from the quiz night with straight eyebrows and a messy fringe. She’s not really sure what to say, so she rushes in.

“Hello, Lily. This is Molly, from the Burrow. You probably don’t remember, but- anyway, Remus gave me your number and said to call you if I ever- well, he’s here, and I’m a bit worried about him.”

There’s a swift rustle on the end of the line, as though a duvet has been thrown back.

“I’m coming. Can you describe his state of mind to me? Sorry, that sounded so clinical-”

“No, no, I understand. He’s- um, very-” Molly glances over her shoulder to look through the door at Remus’ profile, hunched on their small, dusty sofa, “- out of it, I think. And his nails,” She swallows, because he must have done that to himself, it’s only just hit her, oh, _Remus_ , “They’re bleeding.”

“OK,” Lily sounds so calm, how is she so calm when she’s so young? Molly feels like she’s failing just listening to her. “I’ll be with you as soon as I can. Stay with him, don’t expect him to talk to you, don’t pressure him, but let him know that I’m coming.”

“I will. Lily, thank you-”

“No, thank you for calling. Honestly, thank you.” She hangs up.

Molly sighs, bites her lip, then draws in another breath. She has to be strong for Remus. So she will be.

“Lily’s on her way,” She says, bearing the mugs across to the little box they pretend is a coffee table. Remus doesn’t stir, just stares at his hands. Molly, unsure of what else to do, keeps talking, like she’s trying to quieten a frightened animal, and maybe it works, because although Remus doesn’t speak at all, his posture does soften a little, sagging where he sits as Molly talks about the list she’d drawn up for Arthur that morning, of paint for this room and a new toaster and a tea towel to replace the threadbare rag that currently lives in their kitchen. And then, from above them, comes a faint knock on the door and Molly knows Lily has arrived.

“I’ll be back in a minute, love,” She says, and hurries up the stairs two at a time.

“Hi, Molly,” Lily's expression is a delicate blend of concern and tiredness, and she has a leather satchel hanging off one shoulder. “I’ll probably keep saying this, but thank you for ringing. How did you even have my number? Did Remus-?”

“He gave it to me last year,” Molly steps back to let her in, because it’s cold outside (Remus didn’t have a coat, she realises, how long was he wandering around in this weather?), “When- you know, he’d had a bad day, but he told me to ring you if ever he ‘wasn’t quite there’. I didn’t really know what he meant, but-”

Lily smiles at her, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “What he meant is a dissociative episode. Basically, his brain gets so overwhelmed that he checks out.”

Molly can’t stop the silent question, and Lily meets her eyes.

“My dad,” She explains, “Severe depression. My sister and I…”

“Oh, love, I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to pry-”

“No, it’s OK,” Lily replies, and then she’s swinging the carrier bag as she sets off down the stairs, leaving Molly to wonder at the brokenness of the world they live in.

“Hey, Remus.” Lily puts the bag gently on the floor, moving around the room so she’s always in Remus’ line of sight. Molly watches him react to her voice- shoulders softening, head lifting slightly- and her heart squeezes. Silently, she vows that no matter what might be lying in their path, she will look after these two. They deserve protection.

“Hey, love.” Lily’s crouched down in front of him now, not in his space but close, and although his eyes aren’t focused on her Molly can somehow tell he knows she’s there. “Can I see your hands? It’s OK, I’m not angry with you. I just want to see. Molly, can I have a bowl of cold water?”

“Of course,” Molly whispers, “Of course.”

“And some ice cubes, if you have any.”

They run a pub, of course they have ice cubes: Molly fills a dish with cool tap water and another with a lump of ice cubes, then bears them back to the sofa along with a towel.

“Thanks. OK, Remus? You can use the ice whenever you like, whenever you think it will help. Do you mind if I wash your hands? Is that OK?”

The _care_ in Lily’s voice nearly makes Molly’s throat sting. Remus nods hesitantly, and stretches out his hands. Lily touches them as little as possible to start with, scooping water over his fingertips and staining the water with a tinge of red, silent now and focused on her work. And then, as though a switch has been triggered, Remus begins to shudder, shaking where he sits, and Molly wants to run forwards but she knows she can’t because she can’t do anything.

“You’re OK, Remus, you’re OK, it’s just the episode ending, yeah? You’ve survived this before, you’re going to survive it now. Just use the ice, OK? I know it feels hideous and overwhelming, but you’re going to survive it.” Lily is looking intently at him as Molly stands helplessly by.

Remus reaches out blindly for the ice cubes, fingers crunching in the bowl; he gasps, and it’s the loudest sound he’s made since he fetched up on the doorstep.

“That’s it, easy, easy,” Lily murmurs to him, “I know it feels like hell, but you’re going to be OK. I know it doesn’t feel like you will, but trust me.”

Remus gasps again, and his chest starts to heave. His fingers move an ice cube back and forth across the inside of his wrist in a robotic motion.

“Focus on my voice,” Lily tells him, ignoring the water dripping onto her knee. Molly hadn’t even realised her hand was covering her mouth- she lowers it, afraid of worrying Remus. But he’s not even looking at her: his attention is all for the girl kneeling in front of him.

“Lily?” Remus whispers, his voice fractured and tight.

“Yeah, I’m here, Remus. I’m here. Do you want a fresh ice cube? That one is very melty.”

Remus looks at his wrist in surprise, then at the puddle he’s created. And somehow, that’s the thing that jolts him entirely back into himself, resyncing brain and body and painful, painful heart.

“Lily,” He whispers again, and he reaches out for her.

Molly watches as Lily wraps her arms around Remus like he’s a toddler with a scraped knee, holding him together as he falls apart, but it’s only when he can’t see her face that she lets her expression fall into anything less than serene strength. Molly feels such a rush of affection for this girl that she has to duck back into the kitchen before either of them can glimpse the film of tears swimming in her eyes, and then Arthur gets back and she has to explain everything to him as they stand on the pavement beside their rusty old Ford Anglia, and she’s so, so glad to see him and have him hugging her in the street and making her feel safe.

They are cautious as they carry the paint tins indoors and into the back, but Remus is sat up, looking pale and exhausted but his eyes are his again and Molly so desperately relieved that she could start crying all over again.

“Hello, Molly, Arthur,” He says, wanly. “Sorry about all this.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Molly says, at once, and Arthur nods intently. “Nothing at all, Remus,” He adds, and Remus bites his lip but doesn’t argue.

“See?” Lily, sat beside him on the sofa, nudges him with her elbow and half rolls her eyes. Remus doesn’t quite smile, but it’s a close run thing, and Molly breathes properly for the first time in ages.

“Anyone want a cup of tea? Well, another cup of tea,” She eyes the mugs that must have gone cold by now, “And maybe something to eat?”

“I would love something to eat,” Lily says, “Remus?”

“Uh, yeah. OK.”

“Don’t feel like we’re forcing you,” Arthur jokes, “Although Molly will feed anything that comes through the door if she can.” Molly pulls a face at him, and they laugh.

“No, no, I could eat.” Remus says, and moves to get up. They all shout him down at once. “But I can at least _help_ ,” He complains, starting to sound more and more like his old self, but neither Lily nor Molly will be swayed.

“It’s only soup, Remus, I don’t even need one other pair of hands to help.” Molly bustles into the kitchen, Arthur on her heels, and closes the door behind them. Pea and ham soup, she thinks. Something warming and comforting. And perhaps some toast to go with it…

 

The door clunks shut and Lily turns towards Remus. He’s looking better, but she has to remind herself that he’s still going to be fragile. She can’t push too hard. But the hot anger that has been building in her chest and fists ever since Molly rang her is demanding answers.

“Remus,” She says, and she can tell from the way his expression tightens that he knows what’s coming, “What set it off? Can you talk about it?”

About _him_ , she could have said.

“I don’t want to break down again, Lily,” He replies, examining the plasters that now cover all the fingertips on his left hand and the thumb on his right. He keeps his tone carefully detached.

Lily judges that she still has a bit of leeway. “I’m here. You’re safe. But I want to know what triggered it, and I don’t want you bottling shit up. You said you haven’t dissociated since exams last year.”

_So what did he do to you?_ She silently asks.

“I haven’t.” Remus takes a deep breath, then looks sidelong at her. His eyes look very hazel in this light. “Can I give you the short version?”

Lily nods. She understands that this is as much as she’s going to get today, and the short version is enough for now.

“OK. I…”

“You went on your date with Sirius?” Lily prompts gently, trying to keep all traces of fury out of her voice.

“Yes.” Remus swallows, steels himself, and Lily holds herself very still, “We went to the gig. We… We kissed. I stayed over at his place-” Lily can’t help the way her eyes widen at that, and Remus laughs bitterly, “- don’t worry, I didn’t sleep with him. He wanted to, but I- I freaked out. He was good about it. Then- this morning,” His voice starts to shake, but Lily is so proud of the way he pushes on through it, “We had a fight. I walked out. And…”

“Oh, Remus,” Lily sighs, and hugs him. She doesn’t know what else to do. She recognises the despair in his voice all too well- it speaks of ending, of finality, of losing something that could have been everything.

She hugs him until Molly comes back in with tea, then excuses herself. She has a call to make.

“Lils?” James picks up on the second ring, and Lily has to breathe deeply and try to remain calm. Her fingers draw patterns on the polished wood of the bar.

“I need you to call your boyfriend.”

“What’s Sirius done now?” James sounds light, as though this is some small, trivial matter. He’s about to find out how wrong he is.

“He’s-” Lily is actually too angry to speak properly; she tries again, “- he’s _royally fucked up Remus_ , that’s what.”

“What? What happened?” All credit to James, he understands immediately. He knows how important Remus is to her.

“According to Remus, they’ve ‘had a fight’ but it must have been more like world war three, Remus _dissociated_ because of it and if I didn’t need to stay with him I’d be going round there to wring Sirius Black’s stringy neck!”

“Lily-”

“Don’t ‘Lily’ me,” She hisses down the phone, “Maybe he didn’t know about Remus’ condition but Remus isn’t made of glass. He must have been absolutely fucking cruel to him. Don’t tell me that Sirius doesn’t have a cruel streak in him, not after all the stories you’ve told me.”

“I’m not saying that,” There’s a thump that sounds like James pulling on a shoe and falling against a wall, “I’m going round there, OK? How’s Remus now?”

“He’s come out of it, mostly, but it’s shitty for his mental stability for him to relapse like this. I swear to God, if I see Sirius-”

“Lily, I know you’re mad, and you’ve got good reason, but- Sirius isn’t without his own issues.”

Lily grinds her teeth, but she knows that none of this is James’ fault, so she doesn’t snap at him.

“OK. Let me know what he says, otherwise I might be paying him a visit.”

James laughs bleakly. “I will. Keep me in the loop with Remus?”

“I will. Love you.”

“Love you, too. Bye.”

The call disconnects, and Lily presses a hand to her forehead. She can feel a headache forming.

“Would you like toast with your soup, Lily?” Molly calls, and Lily sighs, puts her phone away, and heads back into the sitting room.

She gets a text an hour later.

**James: 3 smashed plates and some ripped up canvases but the neighbours didn’t actually call the police so could have been worse**

She reads it, then glances over at Remus, curled on the sofa with a battered copy of The Hobbit in his hands (she’d brought it with her, that and the green nail polish they’d carefully painted on to his undamaged fingers). Half of her doesn’t want to pry, half of her wants to have justification for kicking Sirius Black’s arse.

**Lily: What did he say??**

**James: Refused to talk about it**

**Lily: For god’s sake**

**James: I’m sorry**

Lily’s heart clenches with guilt.

**Lily: God I’m not mad at you!**

**James: But you are mad at Sirius?**

**Lily: Yes**

**I know he’s your friend, but Remus is mine**

**James: I understand**

**Lily: Is Sirius OK?**

It actually makes Lily feel a bit ill to type that, but she has to make an effort. He’s James’ best friend.

**James: He says he’s fine**

**Lily: OK**

**Are you still with him?**

**James: Yeah but I’ve outstayed my welcome**

**How’s Remus?**

Lily looks up again.

**Lily: He’s better**

He looks calmer, more at ease. That doesn’t mean this is done with him though, Lily knows that.

**James: Good**

**Do you need to stay with him tonight?**

**Lily: Yh**

**Sorry :(**

**James: Its OK**

**Let me know if you need anything?**

**Lily: You’re the best**

**Actually the best**

**James: I’ll bear that in mind ;)**

Lily smiles, because how can she not?- And then she puts her phone away, stretches and looks at Remus, again.

“Do you want me to come home?” Remus asks her, not lifting his eyes from the pages.

“Not if you don’t want to,” Lily answers at once, “It’s only four. We’ve got ages yet.”

Remus nods. “Here- here is good, Lil.”

Lily can see why. This place is a good fit for him, small and cosy and full of soft laughter and yellow light, and Arthur and Molly are good for him, too. He’s talked about them before, of course, but this is the first time Lily’s seen how they are with him: firm and kind and open without even trying.

“I’m really glad you came here,” She says, not exactly without thinking but with less caution than she might have; Remus’ attention lifts from his book.

“Me too,” He replies after a moment. “I guess recovery does some magical shit, huh.”

It’s meant to sound funny, and Lily laughs but there’s also a lump in her throat and through that weird sixth-sense they share she’s fairly sure Remus does, too. She launches herself across the room and bundles into Remus’ arms.

“Hello,” Remus huffs out a breath and lets her settle in, his voice only a tiny bit thick she curls her legs underneath her.

“You’ve made it through before, Remus,” She murmurs, “You’ll make it through this.”

“Please don’t-” Remus’ voice hitches, “- don’t give me the ‘stronger, better’ crap.”

Lily can feel her face scrunching up and she has to remind herself that it’s not him talking, that’s ill Remus and ill Remus sometimes forgets to trust her.

“I wasn’t going to,” She tells him, “I just said you’d survive it. That’s all.”

Beside her, Remus sighs.

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess I will.”

He sounds so… defeated. It scares Lily, just a bit. She nestles closer to him. She can feel his ribcage shudder beside her as he draws in a breath.

“I just… I- I wanted it so much.” Remus’ voice cracks, “And I know I shouldn’t have let myself-”

Lily waits just long enough to be sure that Remus doesn’t have anything else to say before replying, keeping her gaze trained on the worn fabric covering her knees.

“You can cut that train of thought off right now. You are not fucking responsible for- _him_. You are allowed to have feelings and expect people to act decently- it’s a two-way street, y’know.”

Remus doesn’t answer her, and she knows that’s because Remus was raised to stay silent rather than say something hurtful. Lily has never been able to work out if it’s kind or incredibly frustrating. But she doesn’t want to cause him any pain, not after what he’s been through today, so she rests her head on his shoulder and says, “Done talking about this?”

She looks up just in time to catch Remus’ nod.

“OK,” She murmurs. Outside, rain begins to patter lightly against the window pane. Lily knows that at some point, some point soon, she’ll have to take Remus home; but not yet.

Not yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In other news, I now have a tumblr in case any of you need/want to chat to me: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/itscooltobefanficy
> 
> Let me know what you're thinking?
> 
> Uni is really kicking my butt at the moment so the next chapter could take a while.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moving on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up, folks. Maybe grab the tissues. I don't know.
> 
> Warnings: death of a close family member, suicide mention, depressive episode, self-harm mention.

The flat is quiet and gloomy. Remus lies on his back on the sofa, legs hooked over one end, feet dangling. His toes are slowly going numb. He doesn’t particularly care.

It’s Saturday.

On the one hand, he’s relieved. The week, such as it has been, is nearly over. It’s felt like swimming through icy water for the past five days, but for now he can lay out and do nothing without there being any terrible consequences. On the other…

A whole week, and nothing from Sirius.

Oh, he knows it was stupid to hope, knows that he didn’t even deserve to hope- but there you have it. His brain is shit, sometimes.

Who is he trying to kid? His brain is shit all of the time. Hence lying face up in a darkened room, staring at the ceiling, unable to find the energy to move.

Perversely, there’s a kind of satisfaction that comes with the guttering of that little flicker of hope, a relief at knowing the flame is close to going out. This is how things should be. It’s right.

Thinking that still hurts a little, pressing down on a scab somewhere inside.

Well, Remus thinks, dully, better to pick at internal scabs than create external ones.

His fingers are all healed up now, but whenever he thinks about the hours he wandered the streets alone, fighting the mad, desperate urge to tear at his own skin, he feels like he’s teetering on the edge of a deep pit inside himself- so he tries not to think about it at all. It’s like there’s a big, shadowy presence in the corner of his mind, and he can’t look directly at it: but he knows it’s there, skulking at the edges of his vision. The elephant in the room. The monster in the corner.

A familiar monster. So familiar, it almost seems like a friend.

He’d tried to hide what happened from his mum, but she knows his signs by now and she’d coaxed it out of him on Monday evening, along with a promise to see a counsellor. The next morning, Remus had got all the way to the address of Student Support before his nerve broke- his most successful attempt so far. Maybe, one day, he’ll actually make it inside.

Yeah, he was a coward. But what did it matter, anyway?

Things weren’t so bad.

Rephrase: things, meaning him, have been much worse.

He has Lily now, and Molly and Arthur (somehow unperturbed by the events of Sunday, more determined than ever to smile at him and sneak him snacks from behind the bar on the two occasions Lily dragged him there during the week), and Peter of course, and Kay from his seminar group and Shivani and Ryan on Wednesday nights. And James, sort of, which had been a surprise. He’d dropped by to see Lily on Tuesday and Remus had answered the door.

“Hey, Remus. You alright?” James’ forehead was creased with concern. Remus just nodded, not quite processing what was going on.

At that moment, Lily had bounded up behind him.

“Hello!” She’d squeezed past Remus to hug her boyfriend. “I have a proposal. Over the threshold is a zone entirely free of he-who-must-not-be-named. Agreed?”

Remus blinked, then nodded again. And that had been that.

It wasn’t that Lily hadn’t tried to persuade him to talk about it- of course she had, that would probably be healthy- but Remus couldn’t. Every time he tried, some cancerous mass lodged in his throat and made his eyes feel dried up and achy, and Lily didn’t know how far she could push him so she erred on the side of caution. Remus was selfishly grateful for that.

She was away today though, on a coach to Bath to see a friend. Peter has sloped off ‘early’ (noon) to the library to get some work done. Even their upstairs neighbours, who normally start the day with loud techno music and tramping around over their kitchen area, are silent.

The doorbell trills.

Remus considers ignoring it, but if it’s a parcel for Lily he’ll be subjected to the death-stare when she gets back (and he’ll feel guilty as hell, and maybe he _should_ get up) so he swings his legs down and lurches upright.

The little corridor leading to their front door is even darker, but Remus doesn’t bother flicking on the light. He just cranks back the lock, shoves the door open (kicking the door stop under- he’s learned that lesson the hard way) and goes to the external entrance.

Outside, the clouds are thin and Remus furrows his brow as the light makes his pupils contract painfully. The figure on the front step looks up as he opens the door.

It’s Sirius.

Remus can’t work out if he’s going very pale or very red. His heart has sprung up to thunder just below his throat, he has to swallow around it, and he can’t stop staring at Sirius although every second is making his eyes burn and acid swill around in his mouth.

(And longing, fierce longing well up in his chest, so sharp and tugging that he can barely breathe with it).

Sirius clears his throat. He’s staring back at Remus, grey eyes guarded, looking as though he hasn’t slept properly since they saw each other last, damp strands of black hair tucked behind his ears.

“Can I come in?” Sirius asks, and hearing his voice stings, because it’s all softness in the dark and gentleness in the panic and anger and hatred in the cold morning light. And wary, now.

Wary of him.

Somehow, some kind of basic internal mechanism helps Remus hold it together, frozen, half in and half out of number twenty-seven.

“It’s just,” Sirius says, and his eyes fall away to rest somewhere near Remus’ socked feet, “I want to tell you… Things. And I’d rather not say them out here.”

Remus takes it like a punch to the stomach, a blow that shudders through him. But outwardly, he stays calm.

“OK,” He is all he says, and he steps back to allow Sirius inside.

They walk through the central stairwell and into flat one in silence. Remus can feel a numb chill settling over him. Somewhere inside, there’s that surge of yearning, struggling towards the man who keeps a few paces behind; but Remus walls it up, shoves it down. Sirius has come to make a clean break with him. There’s no _point_ in yearning.

Sirius nudges the doorstop back inside and allows the door to fall closed as Remus clicks on the bare bulb hanging overhead. Lily had hated the bright pink lampshade so much that she’s taken it down in their first week here and hidden it in a kitchen cupboard: Remus momentarily considers telling Sirius about this, then squashes the idea. Instead, he motions awkwardly for Sirius to follow him and walks, with deliberate slowness, past Peter’s room and down the short stretch of corridor.

The kitchen is very dark with the blinds drawn- very dark and suddenly smaller with Sirius’ presence filling the corner by the fridge. Momentarily, Remus becomes conscious of the mess and the dirty cutlery littering the sideboard, but then he reminds himself that Sirius will never be coming back here and he already hates Remus, anyway. A few unwashed plates won’t make a difference.

“I-um-I want to tell you something. A lot of somethings.” Sirius still won’t look at him, but his voice makes Remus freeze before reaching for the blinds. He knows that voice. He’s _used_ that voice. It’s the tone he uses when he’s dragging the truth out from inside himself, even though he’d rather keep it buried forever. Sirius’ hands are hidden in the pockets of his coat and he’s chewing his lip. Remus holds very still.

“I don’t make a… habit of telling people this,” Sirius continues after a moment, “So I might… I just…” His voice breaks; he stops. Remus is hardly breathing. He’d expected cold, clean, efficient, detachment, but this-

“OK,” Sirius mutters to himself, “OK.”

“Sirius,” Remus dares to say, not moving, trying not to even _look_ too hard, “Do you want to sit down?” His own voice sounds strange in his ears.

Sirius looks around. “Um, yeah. Thanks.” The kitchen table is along the far wall: he crosses to it and slowly sits down on a rickety fold-up chair. He balls his hands in his lap, as though he’s in prayer.

“I want to explain to you- I want to…” Sirius’ voice is very soft, his back very stiff. There’s another moment of silence, then Sirius mutters, brokenly, “Fuck.”

Remus doesn’t know what to do, what to say. He’s afraid of Sirius shrugging him off if he reaches out, of him snapping if he’s pushed- so instead he waits, as the dripping tap counts off the seconds.

“OK,” Sirius breathes, “My family-” He wobbles on that word, but carries on, “- they are… I can’t describe how fucking _awful_ they are, I just,” And suddenly, something seems to have unjammed inside him, words beginning to pour out in a jumble, in a devastating onrushing torrent mixed with hasty breaths and the snapping sound of Sirius unconsciously cracking his knuckles.

“All they care about is money, and status, and the business and I don’t _want_ that, I _never_ wanted that, not after I met James, and then father drinks and mother, she doesn’t want to be bothered with us- with me.” The correction is hasty, pained. “She only cares about our _reputation_. About what people will say, as though it fucking _matters_ , as though her standards aren’t fucking warped anyway.” Sirius bares his teeth in a grimace at some remembered hurt. “Somehow in her logic, being gay is worse than being a Nazi, but _whatever_.” Remus’ intake of breath is loud enough for Sirius to hear, and he laughs, a horrible, distorted sound.

“Yeah.” He twists his head to look up at Remus, “You met cousin Bella? She’s the Deputy Leader of the Purity Party. You’ve probably heard of them.”

Remus _has_ heard of them and his insides drop through about a foot. His history teacher used to refer to them as ‘that bunch of fascist nutters’, reviving the UK’s long tradition of upper class far-right incendiary politics. And that woman in the bar- Sirius’ _family_ -?

“Yeah,” Sirius’ head bows as though forced down by some great weight. He speaks to his hands, balled in his lap. “That was the final straw. Mother tried to make me join when I was seventeen. So I walked out. Thought I was _free_.”

The bitterness in Sirius’ voice taints the air around them like smoke.

“I… I had two years of just, just being who I wanted,” Sirius sounds as though he can barely believe it, looking back, and Remus can’t imagine what it must be like to be so shocked to be allowed to just be yourself. Sirius is still talking.

“Finished school, lived at the Potters during the holidays, took a year out…”

They’re nearly to it now, Remus can feel it rising before them. Sirius’ knuckles are white, tension etched into his every sinew; Remus is in a slowed-down version of free-fall, like in a dream, with the ground looming ever larger below him.

Sirius shudders. Screws up his face. Twists his hands around and around one another.

And then…

“The heir and the spare,” He begins, his voice barely audible, and Remus’ stomach twists, “I was the elder, but… When I left, Reg- Regulus- he was the perfect son, everyone liked him- so I hated him, but I didn’t-” Remus can hear the tightness in Sirius’ throat and there’s an answering burn in his own.

“I thought he was one of them, that he _wanted_ all of it, all of the shit they fed to us! I-” Sirius sniffs and swallows, “-I left him behind. And- I thought he’d be- but…” Sirius presses the heel of his hand to his forehead, hard. There’s a beat of silence.

Sirius is trying to keep a veneer of calm, but sobs are starting to rage beneath the surface, breaking through as he tries to speak again.

“It was- uh, it was the first day in July and I was- I was in the Potter’s front room, and- this black car pulls up outside. And I just- I knew. I _knew_.” Sirius gasps and begins to cry in earnest, his shoulders shaking as he attempts to suppress the emotion.

“Kreacher told me- at the funeral. She told me how she’d found him- they were all in France, that was where we used to go for the summer, and he was- he was hanging in the bedroom. He killed himself.”

Sirius looks up and there’s fury carved into the lines around his watering eyes, agony in the set of his trembling mouth, a warring pain Remus recognises all too well, “My _little_ _brother_.” His voice cracks on those two words, and he presses his fists to his mouth, keeping himself from crying out, maybe. His words come out muffled and snarled, but Remus catches them anyway. “They said it was an accident. A fucking _accident_ …”

A tiny groan escapes from behind Sirius’ hands, almost keening, and Remus wants to cry.

“But it wasn’t,” Sirius moans, “It wasn’t. I left him there.”

And finally, Remus understands.

He reaches out to Sirius, moving forward, but Sirius flinches a little and leans away, words wrenched from somewhere deep inside and hurled miserably into the open air.

“He _needed_ me, Remus, and now I can’t- you can’t- if you start to need me, you can’t, you have to understand that I can’t be _relied_ _upon_ , not in the way you deserve, so _please_ …”

Remus stops where he is. But he also has clarity pounding through his veins, and he’s no longer unsure of what to say.

“And you’re scared of needing me?”

The question reverberates. So much weight in so few words.

Sirius nods.

That breaks Remus’ heart completely, seeing that tiny gesture of assent, but somehow all the aching need and desperation is gone. Erased. He isn’t in control of this, any more.

He pulls in a lungful of air and lets it go, and his thoughts rise to his lips like bubbles through water.

“I- It’s OK to need people, Sirius. It’s OK.” As he speaks the words, he can feel their truth, his absolute certainty in them. “And it’s OK to be feel the way you do. But I just- I need to know. I need to know if-” His throat is so dry, he has to swallow, his heart is suddenly pounding, “- if you can try. With me. Because whatever happened, I think I know you, and I really like you, but this isn’t up to me. It’s up to you. Whatever you decide,” Remus can’t believe he’s saying this, doesn’t want to, but- no, he does, it’s only right, “It’s OK.”

Ah, that’s such a strange release, to say it out loud. It has weighed on him for days: that he was at fault for hurting Sirius, that he’s to blame, but- this has never been up to him in the first place.

He can do no more.

Sirius is breathing hard through his nose, tears streaked in glimmering lines across the dark smudges beneath his eyes. He’s looking at Remus like he’s an apparition.

“I just have to try?” He asks, in the smallest voice, and Remus, feeling his heart give another painful spasm in his chest, nods, and the words are out of him in a quiet explosion.

“Of course.”

And Sirius, crying harder than ever and trying harder than ever to stop, stands up- and lifts his arms away from his sides, a pathetic, brave invitation.

Remus closes the space between them in a single stride and he can smell Sirius, he can _smell_ him and his eyes are stinging as he holds Sirius tighter than he’s ever held anyone before. Sirius lets out a ragged breath that turns into a sob, and then his hands are fisting in Remus’ sweater and his body is pressing somehow even closer as he breaks apart.

But Remus has him.

He has him, and he doesn’t ever want to let go.

Remus doesn’t know how long they stay there, holding onto each other, Sirius face damp and grimacing against his neck as wave after wave of sobs tear through him. Everything is a mess, a jumble inside Remus’ head- but right now, he has Sirius to care for. That’s what matters most.

Eventually, Sirius starts to calm down, easing away from the precipice, sobs quietening into rasping breaths.

“OK?” Remus murmurs.

Sirius sniffs, nuzzles a little further into Remus’ shoulder and makes a tiny sound that might be yes, it might be no.

“Feel a bit… wobbly. Y’know,” He manages, after a moment.

Remus does know.

“I can introduce you to the delights of our sofa, if you want?” He says, and Sirius giggles wetly, then clutches tighter. Remus isn’t sure he can help the motion, and he has to bite his lip to keep all the emotion inside.

“It’s not as comfortable as yours,” He warns, as Sirius reluctantly rearranges his grip on Remus so they can walk across the kitchen together, “But it should suffice.”

The room has been growing progressively darker- sunset comes early in November and the light is dark grey and foggy even inside. Sirius seems to notice for the first time.

“Why-” He hiccups a little left-over sob, “- why is it so dark in here, Moony?”

Remus looks at him so fast that his neck clicks, and Sirius winces.

“Sorry, shit, it just-”

“Slipped out?” Remus finishes automatically, all of a sudden viscerally aware that he has a heart and it’s trying to bust its way out through his ribcage.

Sirius nods and hiccups again. His expression is miserable.

“I know I don’t get to call you that anymore,” He says, dully, and Remus sucks in a breath.

“ _No_ , Sirius. It’s not- I don’t hold it against you. _Any of it_.” He lays stress on the last three words, he’s saying them with such intent.

When Sirius looks at him, even in the dim light, Remus can see the hope and mistrust fighting behind his eyes.

“ _Why_?” Sirius asks.

Oh, God. Remus is suddenly dropped off the edge of a cliff, falling, searching desperately for a parachute. But Sirius is staring at him, waiting ( _hoping_ ) and that gives him enough strength to answer.

“Because… I want to make this work. And I think forgiving and moving on is part of that.”

_I want to make this work_.

The admission, in such bare words, scares him. He wonders if it scares Sirius, too.

Sirius heaves in a breath, his eyes widening, and an impossible, tiny smile pushing at the corners of his mouth.

That’s all the answer Remus needs.

 

They arrange themselves on the sofa: Remus propped up in the corner against the wall, Sirius resting half on his shoulder, half on his chest, feet dangling out over the edge.

“In answer to your question,” Remus finally says, keeping his voice low and dry to bely the pounding of his heart, “It’s dark in here because I was in the midst of a destructive downward spiral when you fetched up on the doorstep.”

It feels like a lot to say that, but strangely Remus doesn’t feel so afraid, so stripped bare by the admission. Maybe it’s because he knows Sirius is right there with him, pushing him back.

“Shit,” Sirius says. Remus can feel him twisting his neck to look up at him. A moment, then-

“You had a bad week, too?”

Remus can hear the uncertainty behind the question, and he knows how it feels, because that’s how it is when you’re unsure of how deep another person is prepared to sink with you.

“Yeah,” He mutters, “I had a bad week.”

Then-

Wait-

_A bad week, too?_

“Sirius?” He asks, suddenly concerned.

Sirius goes still. Then he shrugs, and gives a little broken laugh.

“Yeah. I’ve been a fucking mess all week. Pushed everyone away… And then I was on my own this morning, and I just-” Sirius sounds on the verge of tears again, and Remus squeezes him softly with his free arm, “-I just _realised_. Kind of like what you said, yeah? That I could either keep going through this pattern, or I could _try_. And I realised I wanted to try, I wanted you to know.”

Sirius swipes at his eyes and swallows, “So I got in the shower and came straight over here, then spent ten minutes stood outside the front door, trying to get up the courage to ring the bell.”

Remus snorts, but his overwhelming emotion is gratitude, along with something fierce and hot swilling around in his chest.

Something is tugging at his brain though- he pins it down and the words are out of his mouth before he can stop them.

“This- pattern?”

Sirius hesitates briefly, then nods.

“Not, not like this, Moony. I’ve usually been very good at picking people who don’t care.” The last has a bitter taint laced through it, “So it never came up. But whenever they got too close to it, or I- I’d just cut them off. It was easier.”

Sirius turns his head again, and this time Remus looks down at him, meeting those steel-grey eyes and feeling as though his heart is splitting in two, shedding an old skin and growing into new, larger dimensions.

“But you- I only saw what you looked like, but then you took me to the library for that first fucking date, and I got scared because nobody had looked at me like you did in… I don’t know, just as though you were so happy to see _me_ , there was no disappointment or judgement, and you didn’t _know_ and I panicked, I couldn’t handle it.”

Sirius is talking faster again, his hand gripping in the soft grey fabric of Remus’ sweater, his gaze boring into Remus.

“And then you were there, the next morning, like- And I told myself I could balance it, I could keep you from getting too close, but you just- you kept being _you_ , God, Remus, you don’t know how precious that is. And how much it scared me.”

“Hey,” Remus says, softly, feeling slightly overwhelmed, “Hey. All,” He has to clear his throat, “All that matters to me is that you came. That you’re here.”

Sirius just closes his eyes, shaking his head, unable to reply.

But there’s an almost-smile on his face, so Remus thinks it’s probably OK.

After a few long moments when all they do is breathe and lay against one another, Remus finds he has more to say.

“Sirius,” He begins, carefully, his voice muted and as gentle as he can make it, “I’ve read, that maybe- maybe we should think about having a word? A word for when what we’re talking about is too much. Not like a- get-out, we’d still talk about it, but just to help- make you more comfortable, if that’s something that might help?” He trails off, lamely. God, he’s shit at this.

“Like a safe word?” Sirius answers, just as cautiously, and Remus- at probably the most inappropriate point in his life- laughs. Thankfully, after a heartbeat, Sirius snickers too.

“Sorry,” Remus apologises, “But yeah. Yeah, I guess. An _emotional_ safe word.”

Thinking about the other kind of safe word is definitely, definitely not helpful right now.

Sirius has an incredulous smile creeping across his face.

“That would be- yeah. I’d like that.” He shakes his head, blinks a few times, bites his bottom lip.

“What?” Remus asks.

The smile grows a little.

“You’re something else, you know that, Moony?” At the expression on Remus’ face, Sirius rolls his eyes and sighs. “You are. Trust me, you are. Nobody else has _ever_ -”

“I’m just- I’m just doing- It’s nothing special,” Remus can’t really comprehend what Sirius is telling him.

Sirius just huffs a sigh, as though there’s something he wants to say but he’s not going to say it. Remus waits a moment, then decides to move on.

“So, safe word?”

“Kinky,” Sirius replies, without missing a beat, and Remus turns bright red. If he’d thought Sirius wouldn’t notice, he was sorely mistaken. “Remus?!”

_Breathe. Give nothing away_.

“A discussion for another time,” Remus eventually gets out, trying to sound implacable. Sirius quirks his eyebrows, but thankfully he doesn’t push the subject.

“Fine. It can be anything?”

“Anything,” Remus confirms.

“I think… Mulan.”

Well, that isn’t what Remus was expecting.

“Mulan?”

“Yeah, that was the first Disney film I saw.” Sirius shrugs. “Plus, she’s badass.”

“I’m not denying that,” Remus says, faintly amused, but he quickly sobers up. He has a lot of questions to ask. He starts with what he hopes is the easiest.

“OK... Who’s Kreacher?”

Sirius takes a deep breath.

“Um, housekeeper, I guess you’d call her. Old bat of a woman. Loathes me with every fibre of her dried up body.”

“I take it the feeling’s mutual,” Remus mutters. Sirius snorts.

“Yeah. You could say that.”

They’re both silent for a long stretch of heartbeats as Remus tries to force the chaotic mess of emotions inside his heart into a sensible question.

“Sirius…” He begins, “I meant what I said, about not… holding any of this against you.” His attention zeroes in on the knit of Sirius’ coat, the criss-crossing fibres in shades of grey and navy. “But, I’d- I guess, I want to know- I want to know where you want to go from here? You don’t have to answer now.”

_You can have time to think and consider_ , he means to say. _I don’t expect anything of you_ , he’d wanted to make that clear. But his throat is stuck closed now. Because, my God, does he _hope_.

“I want to try,” Sirius says, his voice a little shaky again, “I want to try, Moony. But this is all new.”

Remus tries not to emanate surprise, but evidently it doesn’t work, because Sirius shifts against him and says, not without a hint of reproach, “I may have a reputation, but it’s not for long-term committed relationships, trust me.”

“Sorry,” Remus immediately says, anxious to soothe the tension that’s crept into Sirius’ words and form. “It’s not my place to judge.”

“Thank you,” Sirius replies after a moment of Remus’ heart freezing in his chest, and Remus breathes again. But Sirius remains silent, and what little of his expression that’s visible is guarded.

“OK. Another discussion for another time?” Remus broaches, scared that he’s pushed it too far and desperately trying not to show it.

“Yeah. Sorry, but today’s been… A lot.”

“That seems like a fairly glaring understatement,” Remus is half-joking, and Sirius huffs out a chuckle.

“You can say that again.”

“That seems like a fairly glaring understatement,” Remus instantly parrots.

Sirius frowns up at him, but there’s a strange smile playing around his mouth. Then he hits him lightly in the arm.

“Fucker,” He murmurs, but it’s the fondest insult Remus has ever been on the receiving end of, and he blushes at the same time as rolling his eyes. Then he opts to change the subject.

“You’re still wearing your coat, you know. I mean, it _is_ fucking freezing in this flat but that’s just overkill.”

“Shit, yeah. What time is it?” Sirius asks, half sitting up and rolling his shoulders. Remus looks around and realises that he has no idea where his phone is, so he just shrugs. (And ignores the urge to pull Sirius back down so that his body is cradled in Remus’ arms; after all his attempts to discuss boundaries, that would be incredibly hypocritical).

Sirius, oblivious to Remus’ inner debate, fishes in his pocket and finds his.

“God, it’s nearly five. Fuck. Marlene’s on baby-sitting duty tonight, I need to call her.”

“Baby sitting?” Remus asks, stretching and tilting his head back to crack his neck. He doesn’t want Sirius to leave, but he suddenly realises that Peter will be coming back at some point and, quite frankly, they’ve both been through the second circle of hell today and another shitstorm is not high up on his to-do list.

“Yeah. That’s what they call it. I swear they have a fucking rota.”

Remus goes to ask again, and then he realises. _Oh_. Sirius sees the moment it clicks in his face. He just laughs and shakes his head.

“They care, mad eejits. God knows why-”

Remus doesn’t think about how awful and clichéd what he’s about to say will sound until it’s out of his mouth.

“ _I_ know why.”

Sirius looks across at him and freezes. Then he presses his hand to his forehead, brushing his fingers through his hair in a reflexive motion.

“Sorry?” Remus offers, tentatively, after several seconds have passed and Sirius still hasn’t said anything.

“It was- a bit much,” Sirius says, and Remus’ stomach drops, “Not, not that it wasn’t sweet, it’s just I’ve had a lot of people think they know me. And you’ll probably have to wait a while until I’m comfortable with you saying things like that.”

Sirius is looking at him, looking so worried, and Remus is suddenly determined to make this OK.

“Thank you for explaining,” He says softly, and Sirius’ face relaxes. “And I’ll wait.”

Sirius smiles, a true smile, and Remus is reminded of the first time he saw him: black and white and burning a hole in the space around him. Although, now, there’s more warmth than just blinding light.

“Go and see Marlene. She’ll probably kill you if you don’t let her know what’s gone on,” Remus says, and then something occurs to him, “Sirius, how comfortable are you with other people knowing?” Sirius looks at him warily. “I won’t break your confidence, but- Lily. She’s going to want an explanation.”

Sirius’ face clears again.

“You can tell her. Although preferably leave out the ugly crying on your shoulder part, please. I have a reputation to maintain.”

“What’s a man without a fake reputation?” Remus muses, and cracks a smile at Sirius.

“Nerd,” Sirius snorts. “Good taste, though.”

“Obviously.”

Sirius cuffs him again.

“Ow! Go and bully Marlene, arsehole.”

“I might just do that.” Sirius gets to his feet and Remus follows suit. There’s already an absence gnawing at his heart, but on the other hand he’s just about ready to fall into bed and sleep for a thousand years. As Sirius said, today has been a lot. They both need time to process.

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow?” Sirius says, easily, as they traipse back towards the front door.

Remus nearly stutters. “Yeah- yeah, if that’s what you want?”

Sirius simply nods, a smile creeping across his face that’s visible even in the near darkness.

Remus nods back.

“OK, then.” Sirius unlocks the door and sweeps it open. “Until tomorrow.”

Remus can’t help but grin lopsidedly.

“Until tomorrow.”

It isn’t until the lock clicks closed again and Remus is standing alone in the dark hallway that he’s hit with a rolling, thunderous wave of emotion. There’s pain in there, and left over anger, and fear, and frustration, and a hundred other variations of negative feeling; but they’re traces in comparison to the overwhelming sense of elation. At first, he hardly recognises it.

_It’s hope_ , he realises: hope, singing through his veins and glowing in his lungs and pulsing like a second heartbeat somewhere beside his normal rhythm. Hope so visceral he can almost taste it on his tongue.

Remus smiles, and goes somewhere else to await the coming of tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am always here to talk to you, here or on tumblr https://www.tumblr.com/blog/itscooltobefanficy
> 
> I hope that was everything you might have hoped? Thank you so much for all the incredible feedback you guys have been leaving, it's mind-blowing.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lily comes home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am back! I apologise for my absence: I've been alternating between extreme stress and writing a Christmas fic to calm down (which you can find here, http://archiveofourown.org/works/8922574/chapters/20437822 , if you like the sound of Marauders' era matchmaking, a spell that changes the colour of your hair and a good old friends to lovers).
> 
> After that whirlwind of a last chapter, this one is a lot calmer and a little shorter- just easing back into the story.
> 
> I know I always say this, but the feedback on this story (particularly on the last chapter) is really, really touching. You guys inspire me to keep writing and trying to make this story the best it can be, and I can't explain how grateful I am for that.

Lily is very, very tired. Travelling always wears her out (yes, she’s aware that makes her sound like a grandmother), not to mention that she’d had to leave at a godforsaken hour this morning because Imogen and Kev were going to an exhibition and she didn’t want to be in their house by herself. It was good to see them though. Keeping in touch with school friends is a point of pride with her.

She waits in the throng for the driver to pull her case out of the coach, surreptitiously trying to rub the aches from her shoulders and lower back. Every single time she vows not to fall asleep, and every single time…

“Alright, Evans?”

The smile is on her face before she’s even turned around. James stands on the pavement, wrapped in an enormous coat and scarf. A few stray curls of hair are peeking out from beneath the edge of his ridiculous trapper hat.

“Hello, Potter,” She says, then darts forward to hug him, “God, I can barely feel you under there. How many sheep were sheared to make this thing? And you didn’t have to come. Don’t you have training?”

They meet for a brief kiss, and Lily feels warmth spread out through her, like she’s just swallowed a hot mouthful of tea.

“We both know cold resistance isn’t in my blood,” He tells her, nose to nose, “Blame mum. And Prosser has the ‘flu, so no training today.”

“Lucky. You’d probably have turned into an icicle,” She teases him.

“I’m not even going to deny it,” James laughs, “Come on then. Let’s go somewhere warmer!”

“I’ll just get my case.”

They walk hand in hand away from the coach station, chattering about this and that. Although Lily never passes up the opportunity to mock her boyfriend for his extraordinarily narrow thermostat range, even she admits it’s bloody freezing today. Thankfully, James’ flat is barely a five-minute walk, and they are soon bundling inside out of the persistent chill.

To find Sirius sat sheepishly on James’ kitchen table.

Lily hasn’t been so viscerally angry at the sight of someone for a while, but it’s good to be reminded.

“ _You_ ,” She spits, before either of the two boys can get a word in edgeways.

“Lily-” James says hurriedly, as Sirius slips off his perch, looking alarmed.

“Hello,” Sirius says, “Sorry. Thought it would just be James.”

“Do you make a habit of breaking and entering other people’s houses?” Lily asks, icily.

“He has a key,” James replies, just as Sirius says, indignantly, “I have a key!”

“What about hearts?” Lily demands, rounding on him, her face turning red, “Do you like to go around breaking those, too?”

A silence falls. The grin wipes off Sirius’ face.

“Has Remus not told you?” Sirius asks, after a moment.

Oh, that’s pushing it too far.

“He didn’t _need_ to tell me,” Lily hisses. She registers James moving to stand between them, perhaps thinking she’s going to lunge at Sirius. Not likely. This is far more satisfying. “The fact that he’d _relapsed_ was kind of a giveaway.”

Sirius’ expression is pure shock. So he _didn’t_ know. Well, time to change that.

“Haven’t you got _anything_ to say for yourself?” Lily goads.

“What do you mean, he relapsed?” Sirius asks in a low voice.

“What does it sound like, genius-”

“Lily! Sirius! Both of you, pack it in!” James snaps, apparently unable to hold his silence any longer. They both stare at him. He holds his hands up in a conciliatory gesture, “Look, you’re going to achieve nothing by shouting at him, Lil.”

“I don’t know,” Lily glares, “It’s making me feel better.”

“And what’s that got to do with helping Remus?”

Lily grinds to a halt. Sometimes her foolish, impulsive, impatient boyfriend shows frightening logic. Maybe…

“Maybe you have a point,” She grudgingly concedes.

“And Sirius-” James begins, but Sirius is already nodding, his expression unreadable.

“Yeah, I’ll go- but _please_ , tell me what you meant by him relapsing.”

Lily is surprised by the sincerity in his voice. She glances quickly at James, then back to Sirius.

“OK,” She bites off the word. “Remus has depression. It can get pretty severe. Last Sunday was the first time he self-harmed since last year. He also had a dissociative episode: the whole package.” She says the last with an unintentional (well, maybe not _entirely_ unintentional) bitterness.

“Shit,” Sirius mutters. His whole face seems to crumble. “Shit.”

“Now you know,” Lily tells him, her voice so cold she’s surprised the surrounding air doesn’t freeze, “Don’t come crawling round him again, unless you want me to _personally_ end your life.”

“Um, that might be a bit difficult,” Sirius says, and although his voice is quiet there’s an edge of hysteria to it. He presses a hand to his temple. “I’ve just come from seeing him. And I saw him yesterday.”

“You _what_?” Lily’s stomach balls up into a tight little knot.

Sirius stares at the floor.

“I told him, James,” He mutters, and James starts.

“ _Really_?”

“Told him what?” Lily asks, not quite ready to stop being angry but swiftly becoming more and more confused.

“But- um, I don’t think I can do it again. Today. Do you mind-?” Sirius continues, starting to crack his knuckles nervously.

“I- sure,” James sounds completely shocked, but, as is his nature, he remains in control, “Do you want to stay, or-?”

“No, no I think I’ll, I’ll just go upstairs.” Sirius gives a frightened little glance at Lily then steps past both of them. Seconds later, they hear feet on the stairs.

Lily doesn’t even have to ask. Her expression conveys enough.

James heaves a deep sigh. Steeling himself, maybe. He wears an expression of- sorrow? Regret? Lily doesn’t know him well enough yet to read the nuances in it. She waits.

Finally, James opens his mouth.

“Sirius’ younger brother killed himself. Three years ago, now.”

Lily can feel her eyes widening. Something cold slides down her spine.

“Yeah,” James closes his eyes, briefly, “His family despise him, too- that’s not a bad thing, they’re all absolutely barking, but it doesn’t stop it being shit.”

“That’s what he told Remus?” Lily asks.

“Must be. He can’t have meant anything else.” James shakes his head. “That’s- that’s huge for him, Lil. I don’t know if he’s told anyone before. Marl and I know, but that’s just because our families move in similar circles.”

“Christ,” Lily mutters. Then, “What a mess.”

“I know.”

There’s a long pause.

“I- I need to go and see Remus,” Lily fidgets with her scarf, pulls her hat more firmly down on her head. “I need to talk to him-”

“And I need to talk to Sirius,” James glances at the ceiling. “If he’ll let me.”

Lily’s been given hints over the course of knowing James that his relationship with Sirius isn’t exactly perfect: she quirks her eyebrows at him and twists her mouth before she can stop herself.

“Yeah…” James grimaces in return, “I guess I can tell you the whole thing now, now Sirius has _said_ …” Lily has never seen him look so utterly taken aback by anything, but she just stands there and watches him as he continues, “He’s lived with my family since he was seventeen. He basically ran away.”

“ _Jesus_.” Lily doesn’t know a nice way to say this, but she’s not the sort of person to beat around the bush. She takes a deep breath. “They’re that bad?”

“Worse,” James answers, instantly, his expression hardening. “A whole lot worse.”

Lily bites her lip.

“And Sirius’ brother?”

“He wasn’t a bad kid- he went to the same school that we did, I knew him a bit- but that whole family-” James sets his jaw in a way that suggests he’s gritting his teeth, “- they’re worse than mad. They’re xenophobic, racist, bigoted- growing up with that, it’s a miracle Sirius turned out the way he did.”

“And his brother didn’t?” Lily asks, feeling a horrible, clenching sensation in her windpipe.

James shakes his head.

“When Sirius ran away, he tried to get Regulus to go with him, but he wouldn’t. Told Sirius he was a stain on the family name, which is what his biological mother’s been saying for years, but I don’t think…”

“That made it easier to hear,” Lily sighs. She’s remembering another time: Tuney on one side of the table, her on the other, dad between them. _“Selfish,”_ Tuney had hissed, and Lily had swallowed down the tears (why had she been crying? What had she been crying for?) and met her sister’s hatred with cool indifference.

James is shaking his head, chewing the inside of his lip.

“No. They were pretty much estranged after that. But I think Reg grew up a bit after Sirius left, realised that there might be a different way…” James looks straight at her. “And I don’t know if Sirius did it deliberately or not, but he shielded Reg a lot from his family. And when he was gone…”

He trails off into silence after that, and Lily can’t think of anything to say that won’t come out forced and choked up with stupid, stupid tears.

Families. So many broken, smashed to pieces by ignorance and cruelty.

“Hey,” James pulls her close, reading her expression, “It’s OK.”

“It’s really fucking not,” Lily says, her voice muffled by James’ shoulder. She can feel him sigh. His arms fit around the small of her back, in the way that makes her feel like he’s sticking all the little fragments of Lily Evans back together.

“No,” He huffs, “No, it’s not. I’ve been so lucky to have mum and dad.”

Lily squeezes him tighter.

“I’m glad Sirius had you, though,” She mumbles.

“Don’t think he is,” James mumbles, and Lily pulls back in shock. James grimaces apologetically at her and nervously tugs one hand through his hair.

“I encouraged him to leave,” He mutters, looking at the floor. “It was killing him, being there, and I’m not sorry,” He raises his eyes to hers, defiance creeping into his tone, “I wouldn’t take it back.”

“But Sirius doesn’t see it that way,” Lily finishes for him, the last piece of the puzzle finally falling into place.

James shakes his head.

Lily doesn’t exactly decide to change the subject, but she does so anyway.

“I feel like a bit of an arse for shouting at him, now,” She says, pulling an apologetic face.

James laughs.

“Probably no more than he deserved.” He finally lets go of her altogether. “Right, shall we go see to the kids?”

Lily snorts. “I’ve got the nice one. At least Remus probably won’t shout at me.”

“If Sirius shouts at me, I’ll just call you back. I think you genuinely scared him,” James breaks off into slightly incredulous giggles, and Lily elbows him, then kisses him on the cheek.

“See you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow, Evans.”

 

Remus jumps when he hears the front door open.

“Honey, I’m home!”

Ah. Lily. Remus feels his stomach twist and bubble like it’s filled with frogs, and he has to force himself to stay sat calmly in his kitchen chair, rather than leaping to attention like a nervous soldier.

A few seconds later, Lily comes striding in, hat jammed over her ears and scarf trailing over one shoulder.

“Hello,” She says briskly, beginning to strip off layers and throwing them carelessly onto the sofa, “Good weekend?”

There’s something about the way she says it that makes Remus hesitate before replying. A certain- _knowing_ in her face.

“Have you…” He asks, slowly, “Have you seen Sirius?”

“How did you guess?!” Lily bursts out, spinning to stare at him, her face a weird blend of delight, confusion and concern.

Remus, to his own surprise, starts laughing. All weekend he’d been steeling himself to try and explain what had transpired between him and Sirius on Saturday afternoon, searching for the right words that would convince Lily to let Sirius back into their little world, afraid she’d shut him out and force him to do- well, he hadn’t known what: all that worry, all for naught.

When he’s recovered, he feels light enough to float a few inches off the ground. “Intuition,” He answers her original question.

“Yes,” Lily replies, rolling her eyes, “I’ve seen Sirius.”

“Where?” Remus asks, unable to keep the incredulous note out of his voice.

“At James’ place. Apparently he has a key. Tea?”

“Please,” Remus eyes his own, depressingly lukewarm, mug. “Um- what did you say? To him, I mean?”

Lily takes her time filling the kettle, setting it on the stand and clicking on the switch, pulling two fresh mugs from the cupboard. Only then does she answer, her back to Remus.

“I didn’t go easy on him, if that’s what you mean.”

Remus’ stomach clenches.

“Lily-”

“Look, I know about his brother. And his family. And Christ knows that’s awful for him. But even if I had known it wouldn’t have stopped me shouting at him!”

Remus normally loves this about Lily: she’s not ashamed of her own feelings, nor of voicing them. But now he just stares at her, an unfamiliar sensation rising in his ribcage.

“Lily, you have _no_ _idea_ what he’s been through.” The image of Sirius, pale and desperate, sat in this very chair, etches itself even fresher into his brain.

“Actually,” Lily says, her voice getting sharper with every syllable, “I _do_. I _do_ know what it’s like to be estranged from a sibling, remember?” She pulls the cutlery draw open with rather more force than necessary and riffles through it to find a teaspoon.

Remus is silenced. _It’s not the same!_ A small, angry voice shouts inside his brain, _Sirius has_ -

_Lily has_ , he tells himself firmly. _You don’t get to compare people’s tragedies_.

“Sorry, Lily,” He mutters.

“It’s OK,” She says tightly. Neither of them speak until the kettle has reached a rumbling boil and Lily has poured the tea.

“Cuppa and make up-ah?” She asks, and Remus snorts.

“That was terrible.”

“Thank you. And you won’t get your tea if you’re going to be like that.” The tension between them mostly dissolves. Remus is deeply relieved. He doesn’t think he’s ever fought with Lily before; he tries to look contrite.

“Sorry, it was an incredible rhyme. Poetic. Award-worthy.”

“Better,” She smiles, and sets one mug in front of him before going to sit on the other side of the table. “Now.”

Remus sits up a bit straighter. Lily smiles a little to see it, but her expression is still firm.

“You know I don’t do bullshit, Remus. So trust me when I say this- no matter what Sirius has been through, it doesn’t give him an excuse to lash out at you. It especially doesn’t give him an excuse to do it and then not apologise.”

“He didn’t know about- me,” Remus mutters, frowning at the shiny surface of his tea. Lily gives him a frustrated look.

“Remus, you are _not_ weak. You are ill, but anyone would have been hurt by what he did! He was an asshole to you! And he’s going to have to take responsibility for his actions, if-”

“If what, Lily?” Remus asks, suddenly, all of his resolutions about ignoring his anger forgotten. “If I’m going to have your _blessing_?”

“No,” Lily says, quietly, “I’m not going to stop you, no matter what happens. But I want you happy.”

Silence falls between them. Remus is fighting a pitched battle inside his brain: on one side is the angry, loud, joyous feelings that seem to match up to the curving smirk that sometimes graces Sirius’ face; on the other is Lily’s warm hugs and Molly’s bracing concern and his own fear that no matter what he does, he’ll never be good enough for Sirius.

“I know you want to help him,” Lily sighs, eventually, when the tea is all but gone, “But you can’t help people who don’t want to try.”

Remus can feel the heaviness in her voice, feel it chiming in his heart with a feeling that’s always been there, ever since he saw Sirius curled on the pavement, unable, or maybe just unwilling, to move.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Remus looks up at Lily, but she shakes her head.

“Yours, I think.”

He glances around the kitchen until he spots his phone, vibrating on top of the fridge where he’d dumped it after getting back from the park (where he’d walked for hours with Sirius at his side, talking about everything and nothing, and how easy it had seemed before he’d let doubt crawl in over the threshold). He gets out of his chair with a sigh and goes to pick it up.

“Hello?”

“Hey.”

_Sirius_. Remus’ whole body seems to harmonise into a single note and he looks frantically at Lily.

“Look, I know I’m seeing you later in the week,” Sirius sounds- off? His voice a little thick, maybe, consonants a little too soft, “But I really wanted to talk to you. To apologise, actually.”

Remus suddenly realises that he’s probably supposed to say something in return.

“OK.” He’s holding himself very still, he suddenly realises.

“I’m really sorry for being such a shit last weekend,” Sirius says, softly, his voice cracking slightly, “And all the times before that. But especially then.”

“It’s-” Remus jerks to a halt before he can reflexively finish: _OK_.

Because- Lily’s right. It wasn’t OK.

(Maybe he wouldn’t be able to say this if she weren’t looking on, but hey. Baby steps.)

He takes a deep breath.

“I forgive you, Sirius.”

He can hear Sirius letting out a shuddering sigh on the other end of the line.

“Thank you,” He murmurs, and Remus’ breathing slowly starts to return to normal.

“We need to talk about it, though,” Remus says, “In person.”

He’s not sure where the strength to say that has come from, how he’s found the courage to keep pushing. Maybe it’s because Sirius makes things easier. Or maybe he just thinks it’s worth it.

“Yeah. Yeah, OK.” Sirius sounds more normal, too. “When?”

Remus frowns. He has an essay due on Wednesday, and he’s done precisely nothing for it yet, so…

“Thursday?”

“Yeah. Thursday.”

Remus tilts his body back towards the kitchen table, then realises Lily is waving at him.

“Um- I think Lily wants to speak to you?”

Lily gives an exaggerated nod.

“Do you think she’s going to shout at me again?” Sirius asks, and Remus can’t tell if he’s joking or not. He decides to play it safe.

“Lily, are you going to shout at him again?”

She shakes her head as Sirius laughs a little.

“She says not,” Remus tells him, “Shall I hand you over?”

“Go on, then. I accept my fate.” Sirius snorts, “See you on Thursday?”

“See you Thursday,” Remus replies, his heart doing a familiar little skip. Then he takes the phone away from his ear and passes it into Lily’s outstretched hand.

“Hello Sirius!” Lily chirps. “I just wanted to say that I retract my decision to murder you if you come near Remus. Yes. No, I’m not apologising for that. I just don’t believe in letting things fester. Oh, hello James! No. Idiot. Alright, love you too. No, Sirius, I don’t even know you. No, I’m not ruling out the possibility. Honestly, you’re both impossible! Bye. Bye-bye.”

She finally hangs up.

For a second, they just look at one another.

“Well,” Lily says, matter-of-factly.

Remus just smiles. He's not sure if he has the right to, but he can't find a reason to stop. He smiles and smiles and smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, more Jily and Lilmus (Remy?) friendship stuff! I hope those of you who were keen to see Lily give Sirius a piece of her mind were satisfied? Let me know!
> 
> Next chapter will be much more wolfstar focussed and I hope that I'll have it up some time in the new year.
> 
> I hope you all had a good holiday season!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An all-nighter and a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! My exams start on Monday, but writing has actually been a really good stress relief. However, I can be fairly certain there won't be any updates for the next two weeks. This chapter is fairly short but I hope you all enjoy it!
> 
> Thank you so much to EVERYONE who's left comments and kudos on this fic, I have no words.
> 
> Warnings: mentions of self-harm, anxiety, depression and suicide attempt (but don't worry, it's not as heavy as it sounds- just wanted to make sure everyone is OK)

Remus crawls back to consciousness to the feeling of the table vibrating. He stirs, drags his eyes open and groans pathetically.

He stretches out a hand and flops around until his fingers land on his phone, then pulls it towards him and dismisses the timer. That twenty-minute nap has brought him to five past one in the morning: he has eight hours to finish the rest of this essay. He has a horrible feeling he’s going to need every single minute.

This is completely his own fault; he openly acknowledges that. He just hasn’t been bothered to do the work. And now, here he is, the night before the deadline, frantically scrambling to save his grade.

Technically, Remus realises, it’s now the day of the deadline. That thought gives him enough of an adrenaline rush to jolt him out of his chair and send him stumbling to the kettle.

Coffee. Then essay.

It’s a familiar, if not well-loved pattern, and he falls into the rhythms of it easily enough. At least he has an outline drafted, and, as of twelve-forty, six-hundred and seventy-three words clattered into a Word document that might actually be half-decent. And the kettle’s nearly boiled.

He sits down, cracks his neck to one side, then the other, and swings the lid of his laptop open.

 

An hour passes and Remus has dredged another three-hundred words from the deep recesses of his brain, but his word target is three-thousand and the lecturer heavily implied that anyone who dares submit such a pitiful offering will not be getting any higher than an underwhelming pass. He’s contemplating taking another nap when his phone starts flashing.

**Sirius** : scary lady says ur pulling an all-nighter

 

Remus snorts and replies without a great deal of thought. Lily hadn’t quite invited him to James’ flat earlier that evening (“Fun is for people who do their work on time, Remus,”) but he knows they are all there together, to Sirius’ evident chagrin.

 

**Remus** : Forgive me for thinking I’d already pulled something a good deal better

**Sirius** : flirt

**Remus** : At your service

**Sirius** : well now you’ve made it weird

Was going to ask if u want me to come over

But now its suggestive

**Remus** : You’re calling me the suggestive one?

**Sirius** : u r and u know it

Offer stands tho

 

Remus leans back in his chair and doesn’t bother fighting the grin that’s spreading across his face.

 

**Remus** : Then I would love for you to come over in a completely platonic fashion

I will be very boring

Writing and so forth

**Sirius** : ur never boring to me moon moons

Give me 30 mins

**Remus** : I’ll use that opportunity to nap

See you soon

 

Remus wakes up to the sound of the doorbell being rung, and rung, and rung. He gets blearily to his feet and seizes his phone (futilely buzzing on the table, not that he’d heard it) before stumbling down the hallway to the door.

“Morning!” Sirius looks disgustingly cheerful and disgustingly attractive (Remus self-consciously tugs his fingers through his sleep-mussed hair and tries to subtly straighten the hem of his enormous grey sweater), bouncing on the balls of his feet on the darkened porch outside, “I brought food.” He waves a small canvas bag clutched in one hand.

Remus considers hugging him there and then, but dismisses the thought as a product of his overworked and exhausted brain and instead ushers Sirius inside.

“Like I said,” Remus mumbles, “I’m not going to be very entertaining.”

“Moony,” Sirius sighs, as he locks the door behind him and strides into the kitchen, “I don’t care about that. Idiot.”

“I invite you into my own home and all you do is insult me,” Remus teases, mainly to cover the fact that he’s trying very hard not to blush. Sirius just shrugs.

“Boadicea told me you have three-thousand words,” He starts unpacking an extraordinary amount of Tupperware onto the counter and flicks on the kettle without a second thought, “How many are you on now?”

Remus is suddenly struck by how at home Sirius looks here, in their kitchen, then remembers that Sirius is talking to him.

“I’m on nine-hundred or so. And don’t let Lily hear you call her that.”

Sirius _tsks_. “Why, will she tear me limb-from-limb?” He looks back at Remus, grinning so wide his canine teeth are on display.

Remus laughs and shakes his head. “She’ll insist we _all_ call her that.”

“Oh,” Sirius rolls his eyes (an unfairly attractive expression) and starts opening cupboards. “Where do you keep your mugs?”

“Bottom left,” Remus says, and sinks into a chair. There’s a bubble of hot air inflating inside his chest, warm and ever-so-slightly giddy.

Sirius is here. Sirius is here for _him_.

“Are you picky about your crockery?”

“No. We all share,” Remus pulls himself back to planet earth and answers Sirius’ question.

“Right.” Sirius busies himself with the kettle and teabags.

“Thanks for coming,” Remus says, after a moment of silence, “You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” Sirius shrugs, “But I wanted to. And we have stuff to talk about, right?” There’s trepidation creeping into his voice at the last, an anxiety that Remus knows, oh, so well.

“Yeah,” Remus sighs.

They do, as Sirius put it, have stuff to talk about. Namely his fucked up mental state. And possibly Sirius’, if it comes up.

Remus doesn’t like to be a coward, but he’d really much rather not, right at this instant. But Sirius is waiting, Remus can see it in the way he carries himself, leaning against the countertop to grab the rumbling, rattling kettle. A little taut, a little tense.

He doesn’t deserve to wait any longer.

“So- ah, Lily probably told you- I have depression. And anxiety.” Remus drops his gaze to stare at his hands. The sound of Sirius pouring the water resounds in his ears. “Since I was a teenager, it- varies, I guess, how severe. I can manage it most of the time.”

There’s the scrape of a chair being pulled back and a clunk as Sirius sets down both mugs.

Remus doesn’t look up. He can’t. What he’s about to say weighs too heavily on him.

“When I don’t manage… It gets bad.”

His throat closes up.

He can’t say it.

He can’t tell him.

“How bad?” Sirius asks, and his voice sounds muffled, as though Remus has cotton wool in his ears, but the care and concern laced in his tone seeps through, regardless.

Remus’ frozen, stony heart jolts, and his voice frees up once again.

“I… self-harm. Or shut down. Or both, and,” Oh, God, he hadn’t meant to say this and he has no idea why he _is_ , Sirius doesn’t need to know this, but apparently it’s all coming out anyway, “I’ve tried. When I was younger, just- it’s not a big deal, though, I’m so much better now, but-”

_I wanted you to know_ , he thinks desperately. _I want you to know all of it_.

“Oh, Remus,” Sirius says, softly, and he’s suddenly standing right there and his arms are wrapping around Remus’ shoulders. After a moment, Remus lifts his arms up and returns the embrace.

He’s suddenly reminded of how Lily had hugged him like this when he’d told her, last year, and how he’d stood, frozen, as his brain had slowly adjusted to the idea of being someone people still wanted to touch. This is like that, only less painful. Less like the floor has suddenly become the ceiling; more like his body has merely lifted a few inches into the air.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius mumbles, his head bowed. “I’m so sorry, Remus.”

Remus butts his head a little deeper into Sirius’ chest.

“I’ve already forgiven you,” He says, firmly, “And I don’t know if you’re used to having promises like that broken, but I’m not going to do that. I meant what I said. We move on and we do better.”

It’s entirely likely that if he weren’t so tired he wouldn’t be able to use such bare-faced words; but he doesn’t have the energy to dance around what he’s trying to say.

_We move on and we do better._

Sirius heaves a sigh, one hand shifting from Remus’ shoulder blade to curl into his hair.

“Yeah.”

Another minute passes. Remus doesn’t feel the need to move. Doesn’t feel that he might be making Sirius uncomfortable, or that he might be too close or too much.

He only knows that he needs this, and Sirius is willing to give it to him. That, strangely, seems enough.

Eventually, Sirius shifts and grumbles.

“As much as I’d love to stay here and cuddle you all night, aren’t you awake for a reason?”

It’s Remus’ turn to groan, and Sirius chuckles, reaching up to push his hair back behind his ears. Remus misses the warmth of him already.

“Come on, Moony! You can do this!”

Remus drops his head onto the table top in answer.

 “Such a drama queen,” Sirius sighs, and then swoops down and starts- _tickling_ Remus, yes, just like they’re five year olds. Remus wheezes and struggles, laughing through bared teeth as Sirius goads him.

“Fine, fine! Stop!”

Sirius stops (reluctantly) and places Remus’ laptop neatly in front of him. Remus rolls his eyes, but complies.

One hour later and Remus has broken one-thousand five-hundred words (foot-noting as he goes along, thank God) and Sirius has been providing a steady stream of food, hot drinks and encouragement.

“Twenty-minute nap,” Remus says, his eyes starting to slide out of focus after staring at a screen for so long.

“I’ll wake you up,” Sirius says, instantly. He’s sat opposite Remus, his legs pulled up, his chin resting on his knees, a small smile playing around his mouth.

“Thanks,” Remus sighs, pulls his spare jumper towards him and pillows his head on it. Half a second later and he’s out of it.

 

“Moony. Moony. Moony.” He wakes up to the feeling of somebody gently shaking him. It takes him a second to remember.

Oh- Sirius is here.

Remus goes to sit up, wincing at the barbs of pain that lance through his neck and shoulders.

“Stiff?” Sirius asks, his voice sympathetic. Remus nods pathetically. Grimly, he pulls his laptop back towards him and starts reading through his last few paragraphs.

He dimly registers Sirius moving to stand behind him, but doesn’t think anything of it; until he feels Sirius’ hands settling on his shoulders and Sirius’ thumbs digging into the soreness either side of his vertebra.

Remus didn’t even know he was _capable_ of the obscene sound that slips out of his mouth.

“Good?” He can _hear_ the smirk in Sirius’ voice, damn him, and it’s probably very obvious that he’s frozen in place, hands hovering over the keyboard.

Remus means to reply the affirmative in a controlled, normal tone of voice, but just as he opens his mouth Sirius finds the spot just above the knob of his spine and his effort is sabotaged.

“ _Yes_ ,” He chokes out, and Sirius actually sniggers at that.

“But,” Remus swallows, trying _very_ hard to focus, “If I want to get- _anything_ done, you’re going to have to save that particular skill for- another time.”

For a moment, he wonders if Sirius will ignore him- but then the hands ( _magical_ , _miraculous_ hands) are gone and Sirius is pecking him on the top of his head.

“Another time,” He says, wistfully, then retreats back to his own chair.

Remus smiles his thanks, and then rereads all the paragraphs that have just gone straight in and out of his brain.

 

At five fifty-two, he triumphantly slams the lid of his laptop closed (after double, and triple-checking that he’d saved and submitted) and immediately lets his head drop onto the pillow of his arms.

“Done,” He mumbles into his sleeve, “Done, done, done.”

“Yes!” Sirius leaps to his feet and claps him on the back. “Excellent job, darling.”

Remus peers at him out of the corner of his eye, smiling a little at the delight on Sirius’ face.

“Thanks for coming,” He mumbles.

Sirius tips his head to one side.

“Is that my cue to disappear?” He says, and Remus sort of wishes he couldn’t hear the undercurrent of discomfort there. Then he wouldn’t have to deal with it.

But he can, so he does.

He sighs and lifts his head off his arms again.

“You remember Peter?” He asks. The man himself is probably in his room right now, but despite the thinness of the walls, he won’t be able to hear: if he’s not asleep, he’ll have his headphones on.

Sirius nods, looking curious.

“Well, he’s Catholic. Very Catholic.”

“Oh.” Sirius’ face slides into a frown. “Well, fuck him.”

Remus snorts. “As much as I love your attitude, I don’t want to have a fight with my flatmate over my inherently sinful nature. At least, not tomorrow.”

Sirius twists his mouth, but backs down.

“OK,” He sighs, “I get that this is your decision. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to stay, though.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want you to stay,” Remus replies, and Sirius smiles again, and everything is OK.

They say goodbye in the dark corridor, briefly pressing together in a hug before Sirius slips back out into the night air.

“Are we doing something at the weekend?” Sirius asks, just before the door closes, and Remus has to put out a hand before it shuts in his face.

“I have no objection to that.”

“Excellent.”

When Remus falls into bed, his mind is beautifully, blissfully blank.

 

 

**Sirius** : r we doing something cool on sat??

**Remus** : I thought being with you was, by extension, cool

**Sirius** : ur making me blush

But u kno

Something thats not coffee

**Remus** : Both I and the coffee are hurt

But I think there’s an exhibition on at the museum?

If museums aren’t too boring for you

**Sirius** : Moony

I do art history

Art

History

Museums r practically my natural habitat

**Remus** : Museum then

Eleven?

**Sirius** : done and done

 

Crosbie’s Museum occupies a series of pretentious Georgian townhouses and is home to a decidedly eclectic mixture of art, historical artefacts and natural curios. Remus loves it.

Any fears that he might have had about Sirius’ level of interest evaporate as soon as they’ve paid their entry fee (Remus with barely a wince): he feels fingers entwining with his and Sirius grins up at him. Remus had thought he’d seen everything Sirius and his hair could throw at him, but today he’s somehow pulled most of it out of his face and pinned it at the back of his head, throwing his features into sharp relief, and Remus’ heart _insists_ on reacting every time he so much as glances at him.

“Can we go and see my favourite?” He asks, voice light, and Remus nods, intrigued.

Sirius tugs him across the foyer and into the first room on the left, a long corridor attempting to imitate the London galleries with benches set at intervals down the middle and art hanging on the dark walls. Remus has been in here before, but more for a cursory glance than any particular interest. He barely remembers which artists are showcased in here, except-

“Here she is,” Sirius halts in front of a small sketch, hanging about half-way along. It depicts a woman, seen from the back, wearing the flared skirts and flat shoes of a ballet dancer. The pencil outlines mere hints of shape and shadow, hatched lines seeming to suggest movement of her shapely arms that are partially obscured by her shoulders. Remus is at once surprised, and not at all.

“A-” He quickly checks the scrawled signature in the lower corner, “- Degas?”

“Yeah,” Sirius says, sounding as though his focus is already absorbed in the paper and graphite, “She’s simple, but- you see her shoulders? The way he’s just picked out the muscles, and you can see the draping of the fabric…”

He trails off into silence.

“I like her,” Remus says, but he’s not looking at the mysterious ballet dancer any more. He _does_ like the sketch; but he likes the way Sirius gazes at it, his face open and soft, an unconscious smile curling on his lips, a whole lot more.

They stand there for several minutes, Sirius occasionally commenting on a small detail of the artwork, but otherwise in peaceful silence. People wander past them, but the gallery is still fairly quiet. At least, until a group of twenty primary school children come flooding in from the other end.

Remus nudges Sirius in the ribs and they both look round in alarm at the sound of shrieks and childish laughter.

“ _Run_ ,” Sirius whispers, in mock-horror, and Remus, sniggering, follows in a mad dash to the far end of the corridor.

They emerge into a room that might once have been at the base of the servant’s stairs. There are small signs encouraging them to step to their right to view a collection of bryophytes from the Falkland Islands, or to take the stairs upwards to a walk-through exhibition dedicated to Shakespeare’s First Folio

For a moment, they do neither of these things. Instead, Sirius glances quickly to either side, and before Remus knows what’s happening Sirius’ hands are cupping the back of his neck and their faces are suddenly inches apart. Remus’ heart seems to have stalled in his chest.

“Can I kiss you?” Sirius breathes, and Remus doesn’t even have to think about it.

Their lips press together and Sirius’ mouth opens under his, and Remus pulls in sharp breaths through his nose and kisses him like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

_What a way to go_ , he thinks, dazedly, and kisses him harder.

They separate after what can only be a handful of seconds, perhaps mindful that at any moment somebody could walk in and shatter this perfect, blissful moment. Sirius has a grin on his face that might blind Remus if he looks at him too long.

“Wanted to do that for a long time,” He murmurs, and Remus can’t help but gently stroke his thumb along Sirius’ jawline. Sirius’ eyes flutter closed at the touch.

Remus feels like he’s filled to the brim, overflowing. He must be smiling like a fool; he’s surprised his hands aren’t shaking with the sheer force of joy washing through him.

Here it is, definitive proof, that Sirius still wants him.

“I’m glad you didn’t wait any longer,” He tells him, and Sirius’ eyes open and gleam with an expression Remus thinks must be happiness.

There’s the sound of feet coming down the stairs, and Remus reluctantly takes his hand back.

“Shall I take you to see Rajah?” He asks, and Sirius’ eyebrows raise.

“Is he your favourite?”

“Undoubtedly.”

Sirius stretches out an arm, like a Victorian lady asking to be escorted to the drawing room. “Then lead on, good sir. I would be honoured to be introduced.”

 

 

“He’s not as lovely as yours,” Remus admits, when they’re stood before Rajah’s glass case. Rajah stares back at them with round eyes- well, actually, one round eye. Sirius ticks his head to one side.

“He has a… charm?” He says uncertainly, and Remus can’t hold back the bark of laughter that’s been straining against his ribs. Sirius pouts (rather like Rajah, in fact). “Moony, don’t be like that. I’m sure Rajah has many wonderful qualities.”

Remus gets himself back under control. “Yes, he does. He’s a miracle, actually- he shouldn’t exist at all.”

“Moony- I hate to break this to you, but I think Rajah’s swimming days are over.”

Remus rolls his eyes. “As a _species_. He’s a coelacanth, a fossil fish.”

“Oh,” Sirius says, then looks up at Remus after a few seconds. “You do realise that I have no idea what that is.”

Remus chuckles.

“I can tell you, if you like?” He says, suddenly conscious that Sirius might not want to hear about a small, stuffed fish, no matter how extraordinary; but Sirius eyes widen.

“Moony, you can’t just take me up here and tease me with a glimpse of Rajah but not his whole story! I demand to know everything you know about- coel- fossil fish this instant.”

Remus laughs again, his chest getting that helium feeling, and he embarks on an outline of the amazing (at least to him) tale of the coelacanth.

 

They spend three hours drifting from room to room before they decide to call it a day.

“Let me know when you’re free,” Remus says, once they’re back outside, breath misting in front of their faces.

“I will,” Sirius replies, and quick and shy he leans in to press a kiss to Remus’ cheek. Then he smirks. “You’re adorable when you’re blushing.”

Remus, of course, blushes more, but that doesn’t stop him smiling all the way home. He nearly bumps into someone on the pavement outside their house; he apologises and steps aside, then thinks no more of it. There are far pleasanter memories occupying his attention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slightly ("slightly") less emotional chapter.
> 
> Once again, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you. People engaging with this fic makes my day (well, more like my week/month) and you are all so lovely <3 Let me know what you thought of their first 'real date'!
> 
> P.S. Crosbie is obviously not a really place, but the inspiration for this museum comes from The Ashmolean Museum in Oxford.  
> P.P.S. The Degas drawing that's Sirius' favourite is called Standing Dancer.  
> P.P.P.S. Remus calls the coelacanth 'Rajah' because the Indonesian coelacanth is known as Rajah Laut to the local people, which literally means King of the Sea.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tinsel leads to awkward conversations; and a New Year's Eve at The Burrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Look who's back!
> 
> I have some super exciting news for you all: one, I HAVE FINISHED MY EXAMS PRAISE BE, and two- I have a beta! I've been really lucky that my best friend reads all my chapters as I write them, but now I have somebody else scrutinising and pulling together and generally improving my work- so hopefully it will be the best it can be for you guys! However, that means it will probably be longer between updates, just because more work is going into the writing.
> 
> As always, I couldn't do this without you, your support means so much <3
> 
> And, without further ado, let's get into the chapter!
> 
> Warnings for mention of alcohol, but that's about it (but, as always, if you see something then let me know).

Remus is woken _very_ rudely by what feels like a metric tonne of tinsel being dumped on his head and Lily’s voice shrieking, “It’s Christmas! Get up, Remus! GET UP, LOSER, IT’S CHRISTMAS!”

Remus struggles out from underneath his duvet (he’d been cocooned up to his eyebrows) and pulls a shocked face, despite the fact that his body is demanding he roll over and go back to dreaming.

“How long have I been asleep?!” He asks, in mock horror, and Lily swats him with end of yet more tinsel. Then he processes that Lily is in his room, which is confusing because he _definitely_ shut the door last night. He blinks up at her. “And how the fuck did you get in here?”

“It’s the _first_ of December, and your lock is broken. Should get onto the landlord about it. Now get up and help me decorate!”

The thought of responsibilities such as _landlord_ and _Christmas_ is really too much at this hour. Remus unceremoniously shoves the tinsel off the bed and tugs the duvet back up over his head.

“ _Remus_!” A sudden weight crushing his feet startles a yelp from him, and Lily laughs.

“I’ll just keep sitting on you until you get up! Anyway, you promised you’d help.”

“ _When_ ,” Remus grumbles, the duvet muffling his voice, “Did I promise to get up at the arsecrack of dawn to help my clearly insane flatmate put sparkles everywhere?”

“Let me see…” Lily says, shifting a little (on purpose, Remus thinks, grimly) so that her weight better squashes his toes, “I _think_ it was when you were smashed at the union back in freshers’ week.”

“No,” Remus says, but horrible feeling of uncertainty has crept into his stomach. “I would never have made such a rash promise.”

“Oh, but you did.”

Remus can’t see Lily’s face, but he’s sure that if he could, the gleam of blackmail would be in her eyes. He groans.

“I can produce video evidence, if you’d like?” Lily asks, and Remus flings the duvet away from his face to glare ferociously at her. It’s all for show: he knows the battle’s lost.

“Fine,” He growls, “Now get off my fucking feet.”

“That’s more like it!” Lily crows, and jumps to her feet. “You have fifteen minutes to present yourself in the kitchen, soldier!” And she bounces back out of his room.

Remus briefly presses a hand over his eyes, then realises that will probably send him back to sleep- so he reluctantly shoves the duvet all the way off and struggles out of his warm, comfortable bed.

 

**

 

“At this point,” Remus huffs, balancing precariously on the wobbly cushions of their sofa, “My life is just like that Vine.”

“Which one?”

“The one where the guy is like ‘No, I _refuse_ to feel Christmassy’ and then he hears Mariah Carey and the next minute he’s humping the Christmas tree.”

Lily lets out a shout of laughter.

“See,” She says, and an instant later Remus feels yet more tinsel (where is she getting the stuff?) being draped around his shoulders, “I was thinking of the one with the unimpressed husky.”

Remus grins and hums the opening chords of White Christmas with only the slightest hint of reluctance.

“That’s the one!” Lily smiles, “I’m dreaming, of a White Christmas…”

“Just like the ones I used to know!”

“Remus, we can’t both sing the lyrics,” Lily breaks off, sniggering. “Somebody has to sing the baseline.”

“Alright, Miss Diva,” He rolls his eyes sarcastically, “I’ll get out of your spotlight, shall I?”

Lily strikes a ridiculous pose; the Santa hat falling into her eyes and the garish Christmas onesie only serve to add to the hilarity of it all. Remus has to catch himself against the wall, he’s laughing so hard. Lily claps her hands.

“Right, Christmas music! And get back to decorating, slacker!”

Remus opens his mouth to protest, but Lily cuts him off with an imperious gesture.

“No excuses! Asseyez-vous!”

The fact that she’s using her (appalling, even to Remus’ untrained ear) French means that loud music and terrible dancing aren’t far behind, but, strangely, Remus really can’t find the energy to protest.

Of course, that means that half an hour later they’re both leaping around the kitchen as Wizzard blares through the speakers, Lily throwing shapes from Grease (more John Travolta than Olivia Newton-John) and Remus strumming away on the air guitar, all pretence of nonchalance abandoned. And, _of_ _course_ , it’s at that precise moment that Peter walks in.

There is a pause while the three flatmates look at each other. Roy Wood blares into the final chorus, somewhat spoiling the tableau.

“What’s going on?” Peter shouts, over the din, and Remus and Lily pause mid-stride.

“Nothing?” Lily says, breathing hard, still managing to make her answer sound like a question.

“I thought you didn’t dance,” Pete reminds the pair of them, sloping fully into the room and blinking owlishly at the explosion of festivity.

“Oh, no, we don’t,” Lily assures him.

“Definitely not,” Remus adds.

They exchange a glance.

“Maybe bopping,” Lily admits, after a brief pause.

“Boogying,” Remus snorts.

Peter looks at them both incredulously, then rolls his eyes and apparently decides it isn’t worth it.

“So, what do you think of our decorations?” Lily asks him, playfully, turning the music down a notch.

Peter doesn’t say anything for a moment.

“It’s a bit… commercial for me,” He finally says, tone laced with distaste.

Remus shares another quick glance with Lily.

“I’m not going to ask you to take them down,” Pete continues, staring at them both, “Because it’s your flat, too. But it doesn’t mean I’m happy with them.”

He reaches for the kettle and appears to have no more to say on the matter.

“Peter,” Lily says, with a studied calm that has Remus instinctively checking for escape routes, “They aren’t doing anyone any harm. Just live and let live.”

“I _am_ ,” Peter replies, tightly, “I just said-”

“No, you didn’t _just_ _say_ ,” Lily’s building a head of steam, and Remus starts considering his escape options, “You didn’t have to say anything at all. The whole world- well, most of it- celebrates Christmas like this!”

“What, just because the whole world does it, it’s OK?” Peter snaps back.

“Pretty much, yeah, because it’s not a big deal!”

“That’s easy for you to say when it’s not your faith that’s being eroded-”

Lily starts to snap back, but Remus, mustering all of his available courage, jumps in first. “Lily! Cut it out. And Pete, just let it go.” His heart is drumming against the inside of his chest; he stares at Lily. _Please, drop it_ , he begs her, silently. _Don’t pick a fight, I don’t need that right now_.

For an instant, he thinks they’re both going to ignore him; but then Lily’s shoulders imperceptibly soften.

“Sorry, Peter,” She says, although the words clearly stick in her craw. Peter looks as though he’s going to reply- then thinks better of it, and simply nods his acceptance.

“I’m going to the shops,” Remus says, determinedly measuring each word, “Do either of you want anything?”

Thankfully, Lily understands the message encoded in the question and says immediately, “I’ll come with you. And Pete?”

He turns to look at her, wide blue eyes wary.

“I’ll buy you hot chocolate.” She shrugs, an olive branch clearly implicit in the offer, and a little of the tension seems to go out of the room.

Peter smiles. “Thank you, Lily.”

 

**

 

Outside on the street, Remus turns to Lily and tries not to look too desperate.

“Lily, he can’t even cope with _tinsel_. How am I going to tell him about Sirius?”

“Don’t tell him?” She says, in a way that isn’t completely sincere, but not entirely flippant, either.

Remus groans. The old paving slabs lurch and tilt beneath his feet as they walk.

“I don’t know, Remus,” Lily sighs, “I just do not know.”

And, because they can find no obvious answer, they leave the conversation hanging there, like a cut thread, and switch to lighter topics to carry them to the supermarket.

 

**

 

Remus leaves Crosbie for Christmas weighed down with presents, required reading and an exam timetable (not that he’s thinking about either of the latter), and immensely looking forward to spending time at home. Sirius had left for the Potter’s a week ago, and Remus had found everything was a bit duller without him around, even though they had barely seen each other as a constant stream of end-of-term deadlines had forced them each into seclusion. They had taken the mutual decision not to buy each other Christmas presents, which was an immense relief to Remus: by the final week of term, he had £11.90 left in his account and no desire to go into his overdraft.

Instead, they’d decided to all go to The Burrow’s New Year’s Eve party- Remus’ had felt a little guilty telling his parents that he wouldn’t be joining them for their customary night in the pub at home, but his mum had just smiled knowingly and said something about _needing to enjoy himself, every once in a while_.

Indeed, she was rather _knowing_ the entire holiday- if Remus had a pound for every time she’d mentioned his _nice_ _young_ _chap_ (and how he was sure Sirius would laugh at being described thus), he would have no need for a student loan. Still, Christmas was as comforting and cheerful as always, with only the slight cloud of revision to shadow the looming horizon.

On the thirty-first of December, Remus climbs back on board a coach, reflecting that this may be the first time ever he’s been excited to go back to university. He smiles, just a little, and reaches for his phone to text Sirius.

 

**

 

The Burrow is _rammed_. The very air feels close and warm, wreathed with scent of hops, cinnamon and strong perfume. Remus’ eyes widen slightly as he takes in the press of people. The familiar strains of ‘Sweet Home Alabama’ struggle to be heard over the hubbub, despite the set of enormous speakers balanced in the corners.

“Christ, it’s not even nine yet!” Lily laughs, hoisting her case in her hand and preparing to shove her way through the crowd, “Come on, Remus, let’s dump our stuff.”

They worm their way through the throng to the welcome solidity of the bar. Molly and Arthur have drafted in some extra staff to help take the strain, and Remus asks a flustered looking girl with a topknot if she can yell for the owners when she gets a minute. She nods and sticks her head into the store room.

“Arthur! Customer’s asking for you!” Remus smiles in thanks as she gets back to pulling pints. Arthur emerges a few seconds later, looking a little dishevelled but very happy.

“Remus! Lily! Good to see you! Come round the side, you can put your bags in the kitchen-”

Arthur continues chattering away as Remus and Lily dodge around the staff and through the little door that leads to the back rooms.

Molly is standing over an enormous vat of mulled wine in a garish apron, with her wild hair pinned up. She spots them, and Remus can feel a smile breaking across his face as she hurries over and engulfs them each in a matronly hug. “Remus! Oh, it’s lovely to see you, pet- and Lily! Hello, love. You can take your bags through to the bedroom, it will keep them out of the way until you’re ready to go.”

“Brilliant crowd tonight, Molly,” Remus tells her as they head through to the back staircase.

“I know!” She replies, raising her voice so they can still hear her as they ascend, “We thought it would be popular, but this is beyond what we expected- I’ll leave you to get ready. And let me know when your nice young man gets here!”

Remus is very glad that Lily is behind him, so she can’t see him blush.

 

**

 

Molly and Arthur’s bedroom is shabby but cosy, double bed covered in a red patchwork quilt and slightly battered cushions. The bass from downstairs vibrates up through the floorboards, along with the general thrum of people. Remus feels a faint flicker of excitement kindle in his belly.

“ _Your nice young man_?”

Remus turns to find Lily smirking at him as she starts shrugging out of her numerous layers. He rolls his eyes.

“Don’t start, or I’ll tell her about you and James.”

Lily pouts, but acquiesces.

“I take it you’re not going to spontaneously combust if I change in front of you, are you?” She asks, and Remus, before he can stop himself, replies,

“Believe me, I have someone I _much_ prefer.”

Lily’s shout of laughter is probably loud enough to be heard downstairs.

“Can’t believe Sirius has done this to you,” She snickers, “It’s like there’s this whole new Remus Lupin I don’t even know about.”

“Funny,” Remus replies, drily, unzipping his bag and starting to rummage for clothes, “And I’ll have you know that I’ve always been like this. I’ve just not had cause to air my comments.”

Lily shrugs and nods, but that smile refuses to entirely leave.

Remus is changed in about five minutes, then spends half an hour holding a mirror for Lily as she does her makeup. He doesn’t mind- it’s rather soothing to watch her apply it, all precision and careful touches.

“Done!” She says, stepping back and doing a twirl. “What do you think?”

The green of her skin-tight dress and the coppery colour on her eyelids pull her colouring together like a work of art, but Remus settles for telling her she’s “Quite astonishingly lovely”. He then holds his arms out from his sides. “Will I do?”

Lily gives him a onceover, raises her eyebrows and nods.

“Adorable. If Sirius doesn’t blush when he lays eyes on you I’ll eat my mascara.”

Remus snorts and forces himself not to colour up.

“Right! To the party!” Lily makes to stride across the room and wobbles on her shoes.

“ _Don’t_ break your ankle,” Remus cautions, as Lily steadies herself.

“I’ve got the hang of these murder spikes, don’t worry.”

They make it back to the kitchen in one piece and Lily smiles and twirls again for Molly, while Remus sheepishly grins in the background.

“Now, go and have fun, you two!” She shoos them away from the hob and the spice fumes. “I’ll be out in a minute!” They do as she bids and in an instant have been swallowed again by the crowded chaos of the bar. Remus checks his phone.

**Sirius** : where r u moony

We have a table

May or may not have made a blood sacrifice 4 it

 

Remus grins, taps Lily on the shoulder and shows her the message.

“Let’s go find them! You’ll have to scout, you’re still taller than me.”

“Despite the murder spikes,” Remus notes with interest, and starts craning his neck. After maybe thirty seconds of scanning the edges of the room, he spots two familiar faces round a circular table at the back, along with another pair he can’t quite make out at this distance. “I see them.”

Lily grabs hold of the back of his shirt and follows him as he wiggles through the crush, muttering apologies for the occasional impaled foot.

“Moony!” Sirius yells, flinging his arms wide and almost hitting James.

“ _Watch_ it, Padfoot- Hey, Remus! Hey, Lil!” James waves at them both, and Lily lets go of Remus and strides over to her boyfriend.

“Hello,” Remus grins down at Sirius, and drops into a free chair beside him. He sees the dusky flush visibly rising in Sirius’ cheeks and finds himself making a surprising mental note: _distressed hipster chic is a good weapon_.

“Remus!” A familiar, yet unfamiliar voice calls across the table. “I remember you!”

Remus looks up nervously, remembering they aren’t alone, and sees a tall, dark-haired girl with a pointy nose sat beside a boy with an overlong fringe.

Sirius leans a little closer, on the pretext of making his voice heard, and Remus can see in the dim light that he’s wearing eye-liner. It looks good on him. “Remus, this is Alice and Frank. We met them at-”

“The quiz night,” Remus recalls, and smiles at them both. “Doing Chemistry?”

“And medicine,” Frank nods. “Nice to meet you properly, Remus.”

“You, too,” Remus says, sincerely. He turns to Sirius. “Who else is here?”

Sirius shrugs.

“Marl said she might stop by later, Si is still in Nigeria for the holidays- looks like it’s just us lot.”

“Davy said he’d be here in half an hour,” Alice says, “He was on our team, too, last time. He might bring his partner, Jay, they’re pretty cool.”

“Awesome,” Sirius smiles, and lays his hand on Remus’ forearm for a moment before getting to his feet. “Alright, what do you all want? Nothing complicated, I’m already a bit pissed.”

They call out their requests, and Sirius shoves his way into the crowd in the general direction of the bar: Remus taking the opportunity to admire the way his tight black jeans fit his form without being too obvious about it.

“So, Remus, what are you studying?” Alice asks, and they fall into an easy conversation that mainly involves complaining about how much work they have.

“Wait,” Lily points out, in the middle of a discussion about the horror that is Saturday exams, “Sirius isn’t going to be able to carry that lot on his own.”

Remus pushes his chair back on reflex.

“I’ll go.”

“We thank you for your sacrifice, Remus,” James says, melodramatically, and they all laugh; but Remus can feel Alice’s eyes on him as he walks away.

He finally finds Sirius hanging on to the edge of the bar, looking very disgruntled. Then he spots Remus and his eyes light up.

“Moony! My saviour!”

Remus rolls his eyes and joins him, elbow-to-elbow on the polished surface.

“Knight in shining armour, that’s me,” He says, dryly, and Sirius gives him a gentle shove.

“I’ve ordered,” He says, “But, as you may be able to tell, it’s a little busy.”

“And I thought I was the sarcastic one!”

Sirius snorts and shoves him again.

Remus swallows, tries not to think too hard, and makes himself say it.

“I like the eyeliner.”

Sirius, to Remus’ utter surprise, turns pink and ducks his head.

After a moment (during which Remus suppresses the urge to grin like a fool), he seems to recover, a smile playing around his lips.

“Thanks,” He says, and the moment passes. The glow that’s settled in Remus’ abdomen doesn’t fade, though.

“Here you go.” A harassed-looking guy starts plonking drinks down in front of Sirius. Somehow, they manage to carry them all back without spilling a single drop, before setting them down triumphantly in the middle of the table.

Everyone reaches for their glass, and just as Remus lifts his to take a swallow, Alice pipes up.

“So, are you and Sirius dating?”

Remus does _not_ choke on his drink; instead, he carefully sets the beer back down and looks at Sirius.

Sirius looks back at him, one eyebrow slightly raised; _your call_ , he seems to say.

Remus glances at the table, then to Alice, and decides- well, it's actually less of a conscious decision and more along the lines of  _f_ _uck_ _it_.

“We’re- mostly dating.” Inside his chest, a few firecrackers go off. “We’re dating around everyone who isn’t homophobic.”

“Which excludes my parents,” Sirius says, smirking.

“And my flatmate,” Remus shoots back, feeling one corner of his mouth curving up.

“And my uncle,” Alice laughs, “Should you ever meet him. That’s cool, we get it.”

Frank nods.

After that, Remus finds that he can hardly take his eyes off Sirius. _Mostly_ _dating_. He can’t believe he’s said that out loud, in a public place. He is mostly dating Sirius Black.

_What an incredible place this_ _universe is_.

Oh, maybe that was ridiculous. And maybe he is a bit drunk, and a bit whimsical and over-romantic- _To hell with it_ , Remus thinks. This is wondrous. This will _always_ be wondrous.

So he looks and looks at Sirius, and laughs and drinks and watches the night spin out before him like a spool of unwinding thread.

 

**

 

The hours pass in a golden haze of light and laughter really good mulled wine. At one point, Bon Jovi is blasting through The Burrow and they’re all standing up and singing along at the top of their lungs. Sirius and James get into a dance competition that nearly ends in a fight with three random strangers and a broken ankle. Frank and Alice do shots with Lily. Remus can’t remember a night when he’s felt this free.

And then the music is fading out, and Molly’s voice comes in over the speakers.

“Can everybody hear me?”

Remus joins in the raucous replying cheer.

“It’s now- thirteen seconds until midnight! The New Year is almost here!”

More cheering, and somehow, Remus is standing right next to Sirius, his arm wrapped around his shoulders.

“OK- Ten, nine-”

The assembled crowd take over, yelling far louder than the sound system.

“EIGHT! SEVEN! SIX! FIVE! FOUR! THREE! TWO! ONE!”

And there it is. It’s 2017, and Remus is stood in the middle of an underground pub in the poshest town in Britain, barely six inches separating him from the man he’s starting to worry he’s in love with.

“Happy New Year, Moony!” Sirius yells in his ear, and Remus turns to look at him. He’s close enough to see the eyeliner smudging in patches at the corner of Sirius’ eyes. Sirius looks at him as though intrigued to see what he’ll do.

For the second time that evening, Remus abandons conscious decision-making.

_Fuck it._

He leans in and kisses him.

It only lasts for a short time, tasting of beer and sweet mixers, but there are whoops from around them and Remus’ whole body is suddenly on fire. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see James and Lily entwined together, too.

“Happy New Year,” He tells Sirius, and Sirius grins at him widely.

“Good start,” He winks almost imperceptibly.

“Not bad yourself.” Remus smirks back at him.

The Proclaimers starts up over the speakers, and Sirius laughs, pushing his hair back from his face.

“Come and dance!” He says, tugging eagerly on Remus’ arm. Remus shakes his head fervently.

“I categorically do _not_ dance, Sirius,” He tells him.

Sirius- honest to God- _pouts_.

“Why not?” He asks.

“Because I invariably look like a dad,” Remus tells him, with only the smallest twinge of embarrassment.

“PADFOOT!” James bellows, glasses slightly askew, “Come dance!”

Sirius sighs, and lets go.

“Fine. One day, though, you’re going to dance with me.”

“New Year’s Resolution?” Remus asks, smiling crookedly, and Sirius beams back.

“I’ll hold you to that! Alright, Prongs, Jesus-” And he follows James onto the space that’s been designated an unofficial dance-floor. Remus watches him go, then makes his way back to their table, almost delirious with happiness. Were he more sober, or less overwhelmed, he would be more suspicious - but he’s vaguely pissed and he just kissed Sirius in public and all he can do is sit there and smile like a fool.

 

**

 

 

They don’t leave until half past four in the morning, spilling out into the freezing streets with whoops and laughter, Remus carrying his and Lily’s bags.

“It’s 2017!” Lily’s joyous shriek is cut off with an abrupt scream as James scoops her off the pavement, bridal style. Remus, watching all this from a few paces behind, turns to Sirius.

“Is he likely to drop her?”

Sirius shakes his head and laughs at the concern in his voice.

“Prongs has unfairly good fucking reflexes, don’t you Prongs?”

“He better have!” Lily shouts, and James laughs his agreement.

“We’re this way,” Frank says, one arm around a very wobbly Alice and pointing with the other up Dippet Road.

“Goodnight, Frank!” Lily calls, as James bears her further away up the street. “Have some water before you go to bed, Ally!”

“Fuck off, Evans,” Alice shouts back, and Lily laughs.

“Good to see you, Frank,” Remus tells him, “Happy New Year.”

“You, too- come _on_ , Alice, home is this way…”

They meander gently away through the streetlight. Remus waves one last time then falls back into step with Sirius.

“Are you going back to Godric Street?” Sirius asks, after a few minutes listening to James and Lily singing horribly out of tune.

Remus nods. “Need to check it hasn’t fallen down in our absence.”

Sirius snorts.

“You think I’m joking,” Remus teases, “But it could be a genuine possibility.”

The unsaid things about _why not_ and _I’d rather_ and _I don’t know_ hover briefly in the air. Then Remus shoos them away.

“Is James going to carry her all the way back to ours?” He asks.

“No!” Lily shouts, just as James yells, “Yes!” Over his shoulder.

Remus and Sirius crack up.

“Lil, you are going to break your feet trying to walk in those things,” James tells her, with the excessive sincerity of the intoxicated.

“I am _not_ ,” She argues back.

“You could just take the shoes off,” Sirius points out, rather sensibly. “Prongs, you need to go that way.”

“And we need to go this way,” Remus says, firmly, drawing alongside the bickering couple. James carefully deposits Lily on her feet, and she immediately gets to work removing the stilettos.

“Night, James,” Remus says, and they hug briefly.

“Where’s _my_ hug?” Sirius asks, and Remus rolls his eyes. Then, as though by unspoken agreement, both he and James descend on Sirius in a rib-cracking three-way bear hug.

Sirius let out a yelp, but otherwise offers no complaint.

“Better?” Remus asks, only slightly exasperatedly.

“Much,” Sirius grins. “Right, Prongsie- homeward bound!”

The road becomes very quiet as they wander away under the streetlights, Sirius occasionally glancing over his shoulder to smile back at Remus. Remus would laugh, but he’s doing the exact same thing.

“Home?” Lily says, when she’s finally back at her normal height, shoes dangling from one hand.

“Home,” Remus says, and together they start walking back, so flush with alcohol and a strange, warm glow that the winter night, although freezing, cannot seem to touch them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed that! A really rather happy interlude for our gang. I love hearing what you all think!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a significant problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Look who's back! It's been over a month yikes. I haven't actually finished beta-ing this chapter yet, so it's possible you'll get a couple of edits at some point in the future, but I've been updating other fics and I felt guilty abandoning you wonderful lot so- here it is! (Speaking of other fics, I have not one but two Fantastic Beasts fics on the go, if that's something that tickles your fancy). And speaking of you lot being wonderful, you really are amazing. We're about to break 50k words: not something I ever envisaged when I started this crazy project last year. Thank you, as ever, for your support <3
> 
> This chapter is hopefully a bit more of a reward for you all being so patient- you'll see what I mean! Also, your writer girl has some crazy real life stuff going on, some good, some bad, and mostly just busy. Updates will come as often as I can <3
> 
> Without further ado, let's get into it! Picking up exactly where we left the Dynamic Duo (AKA Lily and Remus, I can't imagine Sirius ever permitting such a nickname), we plunge back into the story. Warnings for this chapter: frank discussion of having your sexuality repressed/ridiculed/ignored, nightmares and something I'd count as a dissociative episode. Look after yourselves gang. And if you spot anything else, let me know.

_This is almost too good to be true_ , Remus thinks to himself, as he finds his key and jams it in the lock.

In fact, it _is_ too good to be true.

The first clue is the smell. Like drains, and damp. Remus pulls a face and looks back at Lily. She shrugs, but she’s also frowning.

Then they open the door, and Remus’ heart sinks so fast it almost gives him motion sickness. Their flat is six inches underwater.

“Oh, fuck,” Lily says, and Remus nods.

“That about sums it up,” He says, bleakly, and they both stand on the threshold in silence, contemplating the best course of action.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Lily says again.

_Really_ , Remus thinks, _there’s not much more to it than that_.

 

**

 

“Sirius?”

There’s a pause, redolent with soft, sleepy breathing. Remus sub-consciously holds the phone a little tighter against his ear.

“Time is’t?” Sirius grumbles.

Remus chews on his lower lip and ignores the question. He doesn’t actually know the answer, although it’s somewhere between four and dawn. Instead, he poses his own, nervous question.

“Can I ask you a favour?”

“Is’t sexual?”

Remus nearly swallows his tongue, and the first smile in hours tugs at the corners of his mouth. Sirius half-asleep and still flirting is really something else.

“Ah, no,” He replies, when he’s recovered. “It’s not- I wouldn’t ask, but-”

“Jus’ say it,” Sirius mumbles, and Remus gives himself a mental shaking.

“The thing is- our flat’s flooded. There was a burst pipe over Christmas, the landlord’s offered to put us up in a hotel, but it’s miles away and I can’t- I don’t want to get a taxi every day, and I just- I just. Wondered. If I could maybe stay at yours. Just until this is all sorted out.”

A moment of silence. Remus’ heart is trying to crawl out through his throat.

Then Sirius sighs.

“You don’t have to _ask_ , Moony. Honestly.”

_Oh_.

Remus swallows, nods- then realises Sirius obviously can’t see him, and instead says, “Thank you. When-?”

“Whenever,” Sirius tells him, “Just ring the buzzer.”

Again, Remus feels a smile pull at his mouth.

“I will.”

“’K,” Sirius mumbles, and the line goes dead.

Remus slowly lowers his phone and looks around his room. At least there’s no need to pack a bag...

 

**

 

Remus trudges down the pavement in a strange kind of trance. He’d escorted Lily to James’ flat and seen her inside the door, and it’s now coming up to six in the morning and the sky hasn’t even started thinking about getting light. The streetlights cast the tarmac a watery, pallid orange. It’s cold; Remus’ breath puffs out in clouds in front of his face as he walks.

The townhouse almost takes him by surprise- he’d lost track of time as he wandered. He shuffles into the porch and only hesitates for half a second before jamming his thumb on the buzzer for flat three and leaning against the wall.

A minute passes; then there’s the sound of movement from inside and the lock turns.

“Moony!”

Sirius is still wearing his clothes from the night before, his hair is half on-end and the remainder of his makeup is smeared around his eyes, and Remus has never been more pleased to see him.

“Hello,” He croaks, and more or less falls into Sirius’ hug. Sirius offers no complaint, only squeezes him tighter.

After a few seconds, Remus remembers himself and straightens up.

“Sorry,” He mumbles, whilst Sirius looks up at him, “I haven’t actually been to bed yet, and-”

He probably would have rambled on for a solid minute had Sirius not gently taken his bag out of his hands and cut across him.

“Oh, darling. Come on up.”

Remus shuts up and simply follows, too tired to resist or even talk. He barely remembers climbing into a bed and falling asleep an instant later.

 

**

 

He wakes up warm and comfortable, two descriptors that do not generally fit with waking up in his own bed. He squirms and opens his eyes. Where the hell is he? The sunlight attempting to pierce the curtains throws a room into relief that isn’t Sirius’, and he’s sure that’s where he went last night… Panic starts to seize at his throat.

The door creaks and pushes slowly open- to Remus’ intense relief, Sirius appears behind it, his face brightening into a smile.

“You’re awake! Fucking finally!”

Remus struggles a little more upright.

“Where am I?” He asks, as Sirius crosses to sit on the end of the bed.

“Guest bedroom,” Sirius tells him, “You weren’t in any shape to shower, and although I think very highly of you I couldn’t _stand_ the smell.”

Remus thinks he’s just blushing automatically, now, but when he shifts a little more under the covers he catches a distinct whiff of drains emanating from his clothes and he grimaces. Sirius pulls a face, too, and jumps to his feet.

“Towels and a shower are just through there,” Sirius points to a door leading into what Remus suddenly remembers is the guest bathroom. “Do pancakes sound good to you?”

Remus’ stomach growls loudly before he can answer, and they both laugh.

“What time is it?” Remus asks, pushing the covers back and preparing to get up.

“About two-thirty,” Sirius tells him. “Now, go and shower!”

Remus rolls his eyes in answer, and the last thing he hears before the door swings closed is Sirius’ laughter.

 

**

 

The shower serves to jolt him fully awake, and he scrubs his teeth and dresses feeling oddly cheerful. When he checks his phone he finds two texts, both from Lily.

**Lily** : hope Sirius is being attentive etc. Landlord got an earful when I rang earlier. They’re contacting the builders now.

**Lily** : builders say it will take a week, maybe two. Looks like we’ll be crashing with our boys for a little while yet ;)

Remus heart can’t seem to decide whether to sink or shoot up to the ceiling. _A whole week with Sirius_. A whole week trying to _revise_ with Sirius around. The problem of what to feel is too thorny to untangle- instead, he sends a quick reply and follows his nose to the kitchen.

Sirius is stood by the hob, swamped in an enormous hoody, humming tunelessly as he waggles a frying pan in one hand. Remus is suddenly struck by the memory of the last time he came in here, heart pounding, and the way it had all fallen apart with the merest handful of words flung between them. A strange emotion wells up inside him, now- not fear, or anxiety. Instead, it’s something hot, and fierce, and somehow delicate, too, shimmering like a heat haze. Remus pulls in a deep breath- and Sirius looks up.

“Afternoon,” He grins, “He has risen!”

“Hallelujah,” Remus replies, automatically, and the spell that had frozen him in place breaks. He steps into the kitchen. “What are you putting in those?”

“Blueberries,” Sirius tells him, tilting the pan again. At the look on Remus’ face, he exclaims, “What?! I do know how to be healthy, occasionally.”

Remus sniggers.

“I’m not sure blueberry pancakes count as healthy.”

Sirius rolls his eyes.

“Touché.”

Remus busies himself finding plates and cutlery before he finds a way to articulate his thoughts.

“I’m surprised you can cook at all, actually,” He says it lightly, so Sirius can take it whichever way he wants.

“Pass me the spatula? And this is the high-point of my repertoire, I’m afraid. My parents thought pancakes ‘ _too_ _American’_ , and we were never allowed them. Kreacher used to chase me out of the kitchen when she caught me making them.” Remus can’t work out if the misty light in Sirius’ eyes is due to fond memory or something else, so he lets the subject drop as Sirius works the spatula under the bubbling batter and flips it over.

“You don’t toss them?!” Remus gasps, in mock horror, and Sirius sticks his tongue out.

“I’ve learned the hard way that that’s a waste of good pancakes,” Sirius tells him, in a dignified tone. “Also, I’m not a tosser.”

Remus groans at the awful joke, but he’s laughing, too.

“You are terrible,” He informs Sirius.

“I know. But you won’t get any pancakes unless you take that back.”

Remus eyes the (admittedly perfect) circle of golden batter, and decides it’s not worth it.

“I take it back,” He says, and Sirius gives him a saccharine smile.

“That’s more like it! Now, fetch your plate.”

Remus opens his mouth to protest, but Sirius whacks him on the arm with the none-too-clean spatula.

“Shh! I’ve already eaten today, and you clearly need food, Moony. Shut up and take the fucking pancakes.”

Remus blinks, and holds out his plate.

 

**

 

They spend the rest of the daylight hours in the library. It’s just over a week until Remus’ first exam, and Sirius has his first two days after that- he submits to studying surprisingly quickly and Remus manages to revise three whole lectures before Sirius starts passing notes. His concentration shot to pieces, Remus rolls his eyes and packs up his things, and Sirius practically skips beside him as they walk to the exit.

“You sleeping in my room tonight?” Sirius asks, as he fits his key into the lock and they break off bickering about lecturers who don’t provide past papers. Remus wills himself not to turn bright red.

“Yeah- if that’s-?”

“Of course it’s fine,” Sirius huffs, shoving the door open and dumping his bag by the door as he strips off his coat, “Wait! You haven’t- hold on, I want to show you- coat off, yes, then follow me.”

Remus frowns, but does as Sirius asks. He’s not sure what he’s expecting; Sirius pushing open the door of his bedroom is not it.

“Sirius, I’ve already…” Remus tails off as he steps inside, the words seeming to get lost in his throat.

Sirius’ room is very different to how Remus remembers it. He takes it all in, then looks back at Sirius.

Sirius shrugs one shoulder and twists his mouth into a wry smile.

“No offence, Moony, but last time you were in here I was planning to fuck you into the sheets, not bare my soul to you. I’d stuffed everything in the wardrobe.”

Remus can feel himself colouring up, and he’s not sure whether to wince or laugh.

Sirius ticks his head to one side, in that peculiar way he has when something isn’t quite adding up in his mind. It thrills Remus that he can recognise that, now.

“Does it make you feel uncomfortable when I say shit like that?” Sirius asks, his voice a little softer, face somewhere between confused and concerned.

Remus thinks about it.

“A little?” He answers, after a moment. “Just because-”

OK, he can’t finish that sentence without explaining _everything_ , and here in Sirius’ bedroom with winter daylight streaming in through the window doesn’t feel like the right place.

“OK,” Sirius says, “I’ll try to be a bit more subtle in future.”

“I don’t- this is my issue, Sirius,” Remus mutters, ducking his head.

“Is it, though,” Sirius blows out the words on a sigh, and when Remus looks at him again he’s staring off into space like his thoughts are made of lead.

“Penny for them?” Remus asks, tentatively, after a handful of seconds.

Sirius chews his lip, pushing his hands into his pockets.

Then, after another brief hesitation, he says, “Mulan.”

Remus’ stomach drops through his shoes.

_This is what we have a safe word for,_ he reminds himself. _For the times when it isn’t obvious_.

“Sorry,” Sirius says, his eyes now searching out Remus’, “It’s just-”

“You don’t have to explain,” Remus tells him, instantly. Sirius’ expression doesn’t clear.

“It’s not that I don’t want you to know, I just-” His hands move nervously again, one tugging through his hair, the other fiddling with the edge of his shirt, Remus wants to hold them still, to comfort him, “-I want. I’d like you to- to hold me, when I tell you.”

Remus’ heart squeezes so hard he thinks it might have forced tears to his eyes; but he just nods.

“Tonight?” He says, and Sirius nods.

Maybe tonight will be his chance, too. His chance to come clean about how much of a mess he really is.

Maybe.

“Anyway,” Sirius normal, bright-eyed expression returns, “What do you think?”

Sirius’ room is enough to justify that question. It’s loud, and clearly lived-in, not to mention eclectic. The previously bare walls are unrecognisable.

Every inch of wallpaper seems to be covered with representations of Sirius’ taste and personality. Wild-haired musicians shout into microphones on tattered black-and-white posters, side-by-side with reproductions of Turner’s sunsets and Monet’s lily gardens. Above the enormous desk (that had been almost bare the last time Remus had seen it, but is now covered in jam jars, paintbrushes, thumbtacks, biros and a layer of empty glasses and food wrappers) is a corkboard crammed with photographs. As Remus moves closer, he recognises James in most of them- James and Sirius wearing ridiculous antlers in a school photograph; Sirius theatrically fawning as James, dressed in rugby kit, hoists a gold cup over his head; the pair of them posing on a school lawn alongside two people who can only be James’ parents.

Remus spots Marlene featuring in a series of polaroid pictures that look as though they could be test shots for Vogue: teen party edition. Sirius’ hair was even longer then, scraped back into a pony tail, suit jacket hanging from one hand, the other arm wrapped casually around Marlene’s shoulders. Remus knows him too well now to read anything into the recorded touch, even if Marlene looks like a modernised da Vinci vision of Aphrodite, dressed in gold and her hair teased into a tower above her forehead. In that shot, they both stare challengingly into the lens, but in the next Sirius is giving the photographer the finger as he leans forward, laughing, and Marlene has her tongue stuck out and her eyes crossed. Remus snorts and feels inexplicably relieved. There are other fashionable people Remus doesn’t recognise, but Sirius is a constant in every picture- noticeably younger in some of the shots, but utterly unmistakeable, nonetheless.

“Your hair was so long,” Remus comments, peering closer.

“Yeah, Prongs cut half of it off for a dare in lower sixth,” Sirius says, absently, then gently pushes at Remus’ shoulder, “Moony, turn around. I need validation.”

Remus looks at him curiously, but does as he’s asked.

For a brief minute, he loses his breath.

“Is that-?”

The canvas leaning against the opposite wall is large enough for Remus to hide behind, if he wanted to.

Sirius nods.

“Yep.”

Remus has to take a minute just to stare. He can’t help himself. Sirius’ art is-

Dominating? Breath-taking?

It demands attention, that’s all he can think: demands he look and keep looking, holding his eyes, just like its creator.

“You like it?” Sirius asks, and Remus would be a fool to ignore the hint of nervousness in his tone.

“I love it,” Remus answers, instantly, then attempts to swallow his tongue when he realises what he’s just said. Sirius laughs softly.

“I’m actually waiting for you to get the joke,” He says, and Remus’ brow furrows.

After a moment of silence, Sirius takes pity on him.

“The piece is called Rosa Canina,” He tells Remus, and then Remus understands; at least, he understands the Latin.

“The dog-rose?”

Something chimes in his mind. Yes, that’s what his mum would call this delicate, dusky pink flower. He stares a little more at the curves and lashings of oil paint standing out from the huge canvas to cast small, sultry shadows. The yellow of the stamens reminds him of sunflowers.

“Yeah,” Sirius says, “I’ve always thought that flowers are better than stars.”

Remus tears his attention away then, and looks at him. His expression is- Remus wouldn’t quite call it vulnerable, but it’s close.

“ _Why_?” He asks.

Sirius shrugs, chewing his lip.

“Because… People admire the stars, but…” He sighs, and Remus suddenly is seized by the urge to wrap his arms around him and never let go, “It must be cold out there. Alone. Light-years from anything. At least flowers live on the warm earth. Even if it’s not for very long.”

They both stare at the painting again, maybe because it’s too much to look at one another.

Then a little laugh explodes out of Sirius, and Remus starts.

“I’ve been spending too much time with Prongs,” He sniggers, “Turning me into a fucking philosopher.”

Remus smiles along with him, because it’s easier, and they turn away and leave _Rosa Canina_ leaning against the wall.

But he doesn’t forget. And for the rest of the day, it plays on his mind. Because although the stars are lonely, every star is a sun; and what does a moon do, but orbit?

 

**

 

They eat dinner, chatting quietly. Sirius tells him more about painting, about the things he’s tried to create, and Remus admits that occasionally, when he can’t keep the words inside any longer, he lets them spill out onto a page in a flood of ink and bad similes.

“It’s not exactly _poetry_ -” He feels like it’s important to distinguish this, but Sirius shakes his head.

“It’s your art, you call it what you want- shit-” He’d brandished his fork so exuberantly that a piece of pasta had flown into his lap, and Remus quietly snickers, “- shut up. As I was saying, it’s yours. You can call it what you want.”

“But…” Remus muses, “If art is love made public, I haven’t shown anyone my- scribbles. Ergo, not art. Ergo, not poetry.”

“Firstly,” Sirius’ eyes are flashing at him across the table, “I fucking love that you use ergo in every day conversation-” Remus’ cheeks turn a little pink, “- and secondly, art is just love. Or prayer, or whatever you want to call it. Just because nobody sees it, doesn’t mean it isn’t what it is.”

Remus considers that.

“Just because God isn’t there, doesn’t mean it’s not prayer,” He reasons, after a while, and Sirius gives him that beautiful, lop-sided grin and nods.

“So you don’t believe in God at all?”

Remus shakes his head.

“I believe- there’s the universe and it’s too big to comprehend, and there are so many things we don’t understand- I think that’s enough for me.”

His heart is suddenly going a little harder- not because he’s anxious, but because he’s astonished that Sirius wants to hear this. That he doesn’t ever seem to get tired of knowing more.

_Maybe he’ll be OK with knowing everything_ , a tiny voice whispers in his head, and Remus does nothing more than let it be.

“You?” He asks.

Sirius snorts.

“What do you think?”

Remus’ mouth twists and he ducks his head in a silent apology. Sirius rolls his eyes.

“On the list of shitty things my par- my _biological_ parents have done to me, forcing me to go to mass is fairly low down.”

There’s barely a hitch in his voice, and Remus judges it safe to look up. Sirius is watching him curiously, but he continues.

“But yeah, I never really bought into the whole thing. Particularly given how insincere _they_ were about it.”

Remus nods his understanding.

“Right, washing or drying?” Sirius asks, and the moment of awkwardness has dissolved. In contrast, Remus is suddenly bowled over by the sheer- well, _domesticity_ of it. The comfort of it. By how much it feels like home.

“Washing,” He answers, automatically, because he likes the feel of the warm water, and Sirius beams at him.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

“Choose your weapon, then,” Remus ribs him as they dump the bowls in the sink and he turns the tap on; but before he can react Sirius has seized a tea towel from the front of the oven and is brandishing it at him.

“Avast, ye landlubber!” Sirius crows, and Remus bursts out laughing- but not before grabbing the other cloth from beside the draining rack.

“Think you can take me?” He says coolly, and Sirius’ eyes gleam.

Then he leaps forward, and the fight begins in earnest.

Well, the actual ‘whacking-one-another-with-tea-towels’ stage lasts for approximately twenty seconds before Remus, remembering that all-nighter last term, discards his ‘sword’ and starts tickling Sirius in the ribs.

“Cheat!” Sirius howls, writhing in an attempt to escape, “Dirty- rotten- ha! Cheat!”

He collapses in giggles, and Remus, reluctantly, relents. Only then does he realise that he has Sirius almost entirely encircled in his arms, and he’s very close, and very warm. If he weren’t so distracted by his own pounding heart, he’d be able to feel Sirius’ sharp intake of breath as he comes to the same conclusion.

“I’d _very_ much like to kiss you now,” Sirius murmurs, turning fully to face him, tilting his head upwards; and Remus can feel a smile tugging at his mouth.

“You may,” He breathes, and Sirius’ eyes slide closed.

The kiss is slow, open-mouthed, easier than any that have come before. Remus doesn’t realise his own eyes have shut until Sirius finally pulls back.

“Very nice,” Sirius smirks.

Remus snorts.

“Talk about damning by faint praise.”

Sirius raises one eyebrow.

“Well, we can try again, if you’d like? Only- shit, the sink!”

Remus spins around and abruptly remembers he’s left the tap on. He dives forward and turns it off just before the washing-up bowl overflows.

Neither of them stop chuckling until almost everything has been returned, gleaming (though Remus says so himself) to its rightful place.

Just as Remus is putting the glasses back on the top shelf, something occurs to him, and after a brief wrestle with his brain, he manages to articulate it.

“Sirius?”

“Yes?” Sirius hums.

“I-” _Good God, Remus, it isn’t hard_ , “I like it- when you ask me.”

“What, if I can kiss you?” Sirius looks at him from across the kitchen, a grin that is somehow both salacious and pleased curving his mouth upwards. “Good. I like asking.”

Remus, perhaps for the first time ever, believes what he hears without questioning it.

“Good,” He says, hardly able to believe his own _daring_.

“Good,” Sirius smirks back, prowling towards him, and Remus can feel the anticipation kindling in his belly. “Remus Lupin,” Sirius breathes, “Can I kiss you?”

He’s very close again, and it really does incredibly wonderful, infuriating things to Remus’ thought-processes.

“You’re certainly capable,” He manages to reply, “But if you’re asking if you may-”

“Oh, shut up,” Sirius laughs, and reaches up to slide his fingers into Remus’ hair, “Is that a yes?”

“Mm-hmm,” Remus nods, and that’s all the encouragement Sirius needs. Remus doesn’t think he’ll ever get over this, not if he lives to be a hundred.

Sirius pushes this kiss more, his tongue running along Remus’ lower lip ( _God_ ), his teeth just on the wrong side of nibbling. Remus _has_ to push back- or he’ll be overrun. When their tongues meet in a hot, wet slide, Sirius practically shudders. Remus can feel the blood in his body start to flow down, and he sternly tells himself no.

“Before we get distracted,” He breathes, in a brief pause, and Sirius holds himself still and gazes up at Remus with enormous eyes, “Weren’t we going to talk about something?”

Sirius’ face doesn’t exactly fall, but Remus can feel his expression changing in the hollow spot that expands just behind his sternum.

“Sorry- it’s just-”

“What? No, you’re right.” Sirius tries to smile. “I’m just- scared. A bit.”

All at once, Remus can breathe properly again; this, he understands.

“So am I,” He says, and when Sirius drops his arms to rest on Remus’ shoulders, Remus instantly draws him close.

“And it’s OK?” Sirius’ voice is muffled from where his mouth presses into Remus’ sweater.

“Yeah,” Remus tells him, tells himself. A weight seems to lift from a deep, dark place inside.

“Awesome,” Sirius replies, in a tiny voice, and squeezes tighter.

They stay like that for what feels like an age.

“Alright,” Sirius mutters, eventually, “It’s not even nine yet. What shall we watch?”

“What are our options?” Remus asks, feeling the delicate, aching moment slip away entirely in a rush of relief and brief sorrow.

“Oh, Moony, I have the best news for you,” Sirius leans back and grins, “I have Netflix.”

“Why didn’t you mention this before?!” Remus asks him, pretending to be outraged, “This is crucial information, man!”

Sirius presses a hand to his heart, in an instant becoming the image of a coquettish ingénue.

“Because- oh, Remus! I thought you might only love me for my Netflix password… but now I see your heart, and I know you are true- hey, I wasn’t finished!” But he’s giggling as Remus interrupts him.

“I thought we’d established I only l- like you for your cheekbones and your comfortable sofa?” Remus raises his eyebrows and prays Sirius won’t notice how close he came to stumbling.

Thankfully, he just snorts. “Such a romantic, Moony.”

“Indubitably. And I’m going to further confirm that by requesting The Walking Dead.”

Sirius frowns.

“I’m sorry, Moony, but that is really not my thing.”

Remus can understand that.

“OK- Game of Thrones?”

“Vetoed.”

“What? It’s a classic!”

“People have their skulls crushed in! Absolutely not!”

“Please tell me you’ve at least read the books.”

“No. Reading doesn’t make my cheekbones sharper.”

“You’re impossible,” Remus grumbles, and Sirius beams up at him.

“Only always.”

“OK… The Crown?”

“Oh, I haven’t seen that! Prongs and I were going to watch it but we never got round to it.” Sirius disengages himself from Remus’ loose embrace and bounds over to the sofa. “Come on, Moony! I expect to hear your detailed views on Winston Churchill’s Prime Ministerial capabilities.”

Remus rolls his eyes, and goes to join Sirius on the cushions. “I wouldn’t have expected anything less.”

 

**

 

Later, Remus cradles Sirius and the dark cradles them both. Remus is reminded of the first night he spent in Sirius’ bed, when every sound had been amplified, every sensation echoing in his nerve-endings. Tonight is the same, but now he has the loudness of his own head to deal with, too.

Sirius’ head is resting on his shoulder, one hand curled in the neckline of Remus’ shirt.

“We should have tossed a coin,” Sirius murmurs, not entirely ironically, “To see who goes first.”

Remus smiles a little, but he’s too tense to laugh.

_Be brave_ , he tells himself, _tell him_.

“I’ll- I’ll go first,” He manages to get out, and then he can’t say anything for a minute or two. Sirius turns his head and presses a kiss to Remus’ chest, and although it’s a lot, it also helps, somehow. The sweetness of it.

“I… I want to talk to you about- about sex.”

“OK,” Sirius says, softly.

“I have- a lot of scars-” _Ah_ , it’s out now, it’s _out_ and Remus can’t take it back; so he keeps going, “-on my arms and legs. From when things have been- bad. I- uh, you know, about what I’ve done. To myself.”

He pauses, takes a deep breath, feeling Sirius’ weight rise and fall with the motion of his lungs.

“There have been a few times,” He’s finally going to say it, he’s going to tell him, “When- um, people haven’t known. Partners. And they’ve been-” He swallows, the memories burning the inner lining of his brain, the looks of pity and horror and shame, shame, _shame_ , “- shocked. And I don’t- I don’t find it very easy, anymore.”

“Oh, Moony…” Sirius sighs, and Remus heaves another breath in, another breath out, “I _know_.”

Remus’ brain stalls, then restarts. But- no, he’s seen Sirius in short sleeves- unless he covers them?-

“Not- not on the outside,” Sirius carries on, “But the inside. When people have got close enough to see, they can’t handle it. I don’t fucking blame them, to be honest.”

Remus holds him tighter on instinct, and Sirius nuzzles into the contact.

“We’ll talk about sex, Moony,” He says, matter-of-factly, “But I swear I will _never_ do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

The sincerity in his voice is enough to break Remus and put him back together in one smooth stroke. He turns his head and brushes a kiss to Sirius’ temple, too overwhelmed to do anything else.

“Thank you,” He whispers, and Sirius hums.

“So, me, now,” Sirius says, eventually, and Remus nods.

“OK…” Sirius begins, the words carefully rounded in his mouth, dropped out like a bitter flavour. “You remember that first night, when you were here? And I- dreamed?”

“Yeah,” Remus replies. How could he forget? That had been when everything had fallen apart- but it had restarted, too, the catalyst of the slow process of reforming something that was better and less-broken than before.

“It happens a lot,” Sirius mumbles, his fingers unconsciously curling and uncurling in the material of Remus’ shirt, “I guess that’s the first thing. It might happen tonight.”

“OK,” Remus says, slowly, “What- what can I do, if it does happen?”

“I’m not really sure,” Sirius replies, “I’m not really used to having someone here. I might- um, sometimes I sleep-walk. I’ve been told it’s- pretty alarming.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing compared to what you’re going through,” Remus tells him, hesitantly starting to comb his index finger and thumb through Sirius’ hair.

“Mmm,” Sirius makes a non-committal sound. “But that’s just- I don’t know, emergency protocol. What I was worried about this morning- you have a right to know, but it’s not-”

He grinds to a halt, but Remus doesn’t fill the silence. He doesn’t know what to say.

“So, I hate my parents. They hate me.” Sirius’ voice is determinedly flat, emotionless, a smooth surface where emotion can’t find a foothold, “They made me come here. But- they don’t know anything about my life here. _Anything_. They don’t know that I’m gay, they don’t know about you, and they won’t know about you if I can possibly fucking help it.”

“Don’t know or won’t accept it?” Remus asks, as gently as he can.

“Both?” Sirius voice sounds suspiciously thick, and Remus’ heart twists, “I tried to come out when I was at school. But they treated it like just another way of rebelling. For years I… it’s only recently I’ve been sure that it’s not, but it’s just been easier- they don’t ask, I don’t tell.”

Remus nods his understanding. Well, his _intellectual_ understanding. He’ll probably never truly understand why Sirius’ parents have chosen to be this fucking cruel.

“Anyway, I guess- I’m out and proud at uni, as much as I can be, and sometimes I think that makes me come across stronger than normal. And I worry it will hurt you.”

“No,” Remus tells him, instantly, moving his hand so he can stroke Sirius’ cheek, “No, Sirius. _No_.”

“And it doesn’t hurt you that I won’t ever tell my parents about you? That you won’t even exist to them?”

Sirius sounds like a child poking a loose tooth with his tongue, somehow revelling-in and dreading the pain simultaneously. Remus wonders if this has happened before.

Well, he can only be honest.

“They- they aren’t really your family?” Remus says, hesitantly, “I’ve met James. And Marlene. They seem like your family.”

Sirius heaves a shaky sigh and nods.

“Yeah. Yeah, they are.” His voice drops again. “And I’ve been a shit to both of them.”

“But you’re changing that now,” Remus reminds him, hating that note of self-loathing in Sirius’ voice even as his brain yells _hypocrite_ , “That’s what counts.”

“Do you think so?” Sirius sniffs, and Remus realises that he might be crying in the enforced privacy that the darkness provides.

“Yeah,” He can only tell him, “I do think.”

Sirius nods again and snuggles closer.

“Don’t know what I did before you,” He huffs, and Remus can feel a strange little smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“I know what you mean,” He whispers, and neither of them talk much after that.

 

Remus wakes up when the light from the passage outside falls across his face. But that didn’t rouse him- what is it? In half a second he brings it all together: Sirius’ weight has gone from beside him, and there’s the sound of running feet.

Remus is out of the bed in an instant, grimacing at the colder temperature and the way his eyes cringe in the bright light. His stomach seems to have knotted itself into a tiny ball. He pulls the door all the way open.

Sirius is at the front door, wrestling with the lock. When Remus looks at him, all he can see is terror.

“Sirius?” He asks, his voice raspy with sleep, and Sirius whips around to look at him.

His grey eyes are glazed, his face horror-struck. His hands grip the lock again and the force he’s using makes it rattle in the door.

Remus’ heart seizes with fear.

_I’ve been told it’s pretty alarming_.

Before Remus can even work out how to get closer without frightening Sirius even further out of his wits, the door gives under his panicked entreaties, and Sirius shoves through it and pelts outside.

Remus swears a blue streak in his head and darts after him.

_What if he goes outside? What if he hurts himself because he doesn’t realise what he’s doing? What if he falls, or he screams, or I do something to make him hate me when he wakes up?_

The marble is icy on Remus’ bare feet, but he’s utterly intent on Sirius, on keeping- on _trying_ to keep him safe. Thankfully, his worries about the stairs seem unfounded: Sirius takes them two at a time with no inkling that he’s actually unconscious. Remus follows as closely as he can, heart thudding.

_Sirius, please come back. Come back to me. Don’t-_

Sirius hits the bottom and freezes, and the breath stops in Remus’ chest. He watches, from half-way up the stairs, as Sirius looks frantically around, his chest heaving like he’s just surfaced from a deep, deep dive. Remus realises that his hands are trembling.

“Sirius,” He calls, as softly as he can, and Sirius’ head jerks again to look at Remus.

_He’s still not there_ , Remus realises, feeling hopelessness surge up his windpipe.

Sirius starts to back away, his eyes wide, hand coming up to press over his mouth as though preventing himself from crying out.

_Calling him Sirius isn’t helping_ , Remus thinks, trying to find some rationality, _call him something else, something that doesn’t remind him-_

“Padfoot?” He tries, and, to his immense relief, Sirius pauses. “Padfoot, you’re OK. You’re in Crosbie, in your flat. You’re safe.”

Remus is surprised his voice isn’t breaking; it’s taking a supreme effort just to keep his words steady, but maybe, just maybe, it’s getting through.

He hesitantly steps forward, and Sirius doesn’t move.

“You’re safe, love,” Oh, it slipped out, he hadn’t meant to say that but it’s too late now and if it helps then it will have been worth it, “You’re safe. I’m not going to hurt you. I _swear_ I would never hurt you. It’s just a dream, Padfoot, just a dream, you can wake up now, it’s OK,” His voice really does break then, but he carries on, “It’s OK.”

He’s nearly at the bottom of the stairs now, and Sirius is watching him, and maybe Remus is imagining it but he thinks the panic might be fading a little from his eyes.

When Remus’ feet touch the floor of the foyer, Sirius flinches, and Remus freezes in place.

“It’s just a dream, fy nghariad,” Remus slips into Welsh, because Sirius won’t know that way, won’t have to hear what he’s saying, only the comfort behind it, “Just a dream. You’ll wake up and you’ll be here. Everything’s OK, sweet, everything’s OK…”

Sirius’ hand drops away from his mouth. He’s still shaking.

“Moony?” He whispers, and Remus nods fervidly, right before Sirius cracks his heart in two.

“Mulan,” He’s saying, his voice breaking into pieces, “Mulan, Mulan, _Mulan_.”

“Padfoot,” Remus has to breath in hard through his nose to keep from crying, “It’s _safe_. You’re safe. I promise, love, I _promise_ you’re safe.”

Sirius scrubs hard at his eyes, then bites so hard on his lip Remus wonders if it will bleed. And then, in a messy rush of uncoordinated limbs, he sits down heavily on the floor. Remus has to fight every instinct in his body to stop himself running to him- but he doesn’t. He white-knuckles one hand on the end of the banister and waits.

“This is real, isn’t it,” Sirius murmurs, in a tiny, broken voice, his head hanging. “ _This_ is real.”

“Yes.” Remus swallows. “This is real, Padfoot. This, right here, is real.”

He slowly sits down on the bottom step, resting his chin on his knees and digging his fingers into his palm.

They sit there for- Remus doesn’t know how long. His feet are so cold he can’t feel them, but he wouldn’t move for all the world.

Occasionally, Sirius mutters something under his breath, too low for Remus to catch. At one point, he starts tracing the outline of the tiles with a fingertip. Remus never takes his eyes off him.

Then, just like that, Sirius looks up, and Remus knows he’s back.

They both seem to silently agree to only breathe for a minute. Then Sirius loosely holds out his arms, just like he had the first time he’d asked Remus to hold him.

Remus doesn’t hesitate.

He kneels down and pulls Sirius as close as he can and drinks in the scent of his hair, the slight tang of cooling sweat. After a few seconds, Sirius’ arms lock around Remus’ back like a vice. He’s still trembling a little.

“I’ve got you,” Remus murmurs, when his voice returns, “I’ve got you.”

“I’m so sorry, Moony,” Sirius presses the words into the muscle of Remus’ shoulder, like a blessing, or a tattoo. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you always telling me?” Remus replies, the barest hint of a smile in his voice, “We don’t apologise for the things that aren’t our fault.”

Sirius doesn’t argue.

After a while, he squirms, and Remus looks down at him.

“Cuddles can be moved back to bed, now,” He says, something of his normal tone returning, “I cannot feel my fucking feet.”

“Thank Christ for that,” Remus jokes, “Neither can I.”

Sirius snorts softly and together they stand up. Sirius butts his head back into Remus’ shoulder.

“Thank you,” He says, and Remus draws him under his arm without even having to think about it.

“Any time,” He replies, honestly, and together they slope back to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! Just a little further comment on Sirius' nightmare: I'm not exactly keen on googling it, but I have experienced something similar, hence I don't really know what to label it as. Suffice to say it's very, very scary, and probably just as alarming for anyone around at the time. I LOVE HEARING WHAT YOU THINK I LOVE IT SO MUCH (and I love you all).
> 
> If you want to find me, my sideblog tumblr is itscooltobefanficy.
> 
> And... fy nghariad = my boyfriend/lover. Let us all say AHHHHHH together.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh God, I feel like I need to put on my tin hat- and you know what, I deserve it! I am so sorry for abandoning you all for over a month. There are a multitude of reasons: exams, adult stuff, real life... But also my muse is a contrary arse, and there's no other way around it. This chapter has been so, so difficult for me to write. Why? I'm not really sure. It's not even that long. It's just been so hard to strike the right tone. I would really love your feedback on this one.  
> Thank you for your unending patience, and I hope you enjoy <3  
> Trigger warnings: viscerally described (and I mean really vivid detail) panic attack. Look after yourselves, folks.  
> P.S. Listen to Fionn Regan, Cape of Diamonds for the first part. Just do yourselves a favour and listen to Fionn Regan regardless.

When Remus was little, his mum used to take him out in the rainstorms that would settle over their hometown. He remembers it vividly: remembers the wind smashing into him, so strong he could let it hold him upright; remembers the sky painted iron grey and his yells whipped from his lungs before they could even be born; remembers turning his face upwards in sheer joy to feel the cool kiss of rain against his cheeks. That’s what living with Sirius is like: like he’s breathless and ecstatic and so unbelievably free that his bones bloom with it, like it sings to the swirling wild sky in a language he doesn’t know. Every second carries the risk that he’ll be swept away; torn up by the roots and cast into the air- but it’s the risk that makes it so exhilarating. The constant _nearly, nearly, nearly_ is almost more than he can take. But it’s the _not yet, not now, maybe not ever_ , that keeps him holding on. That keeps him leaning into the storm.

 _This is love_ , a tiny voice whispers at the back of his mind, but Remus ignores it, and it’s never loud enough to trouble him.

Take right now, for example: white sky through the windows, Fionn Regan oozing out of the speakers like molten honey, and Sirius flopped on the sofa, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he concentrates on his notes. He’s not even _doing_ anything, just lying there, oblivious to Remus’ gaze, but he still manages to jolt an electric current through Remus’ heart every time he frowns or reaches delicately forwards to turn a page.

“You’re a sap, you know,” Sirius says, perfectly amiably, when Remus has been staring for too long.

Remus pointedly clatters a few keys on his laptop and tries not to blush. Sirius only smiles on one side of his mouth, before lapsing back into silence. Peace reigns, punctuated only by soft guitar, the tap-tap-tap of Remus writing, and the rustle of Sirius turning pages.

It is, of course, too good to last.

~~~

Remus has his breakdown quietly, in the spot between the fruit juice and the eggs, where he’s at least a little bit out of the way and nobody can see his white knuckles and rapid-flutter breathing and the stinging in his eyes that might be tears. He’s not crying _for_ anything; it’s just a by-product of the panic tearing at the inside of his chest.

 _That’s all it is_ , he tells himself, _that’s all, I’ve done this before_ -

 _All_ is just a slice of hell, but that’s OK, he can handle it, he can handle it-

His thoughts feel slow and sluggish and horribly detached all at once, and nothing’s pulling him back out from the widening spiral of his mind. His heart drums fists against his ribs. Nausea grips the back of his throat like a terrier with a rat.

 _Shit_ , he thinks, all pretence gone, _shit, this one’s bad. I’m in the middle of the fucking supermarket and my brain chooses this moment to drop the ball_.

People, _normal_ people who aren’t frozen and broken and fucked-up in the head, walk past him, and Remus tries not to flinch away too visibly.

 _Get it together, get it together, please can I get it together for five fucking minutes in a row_ -

He can feel himself start to drift further out, the air coming shorter and shorter as his lungs seem to shrink.

_No, getting it together is apparently out of reach at the present time. Would you like to try again later?_

Remus bites down on his lip, hard.

 _You have to do something_.

Somehow, by some little act of providence, he isn’t too far gone to reach for his phone (even though he’s fucking terrified now of making a sound, of calling attention to himself, but _no_ , he _has_ _to_ _do_ _this_ ) and press a shaking thumb on the call button.

Three electronic buzzes resound through his head like a claxon, but he forces himself to hold the phone to his ear, chewing his bottom lip raw.

“Moony?”

Oh God oh god oh god.

He wrests his uppermost thought out of the loop and tries to say something, anything.

“I-”

One syllable! That’s all he can manage, one fucking syllable and adrenaline’s smashing through him like a tsunami, as he shakes all over for _no goddamn reason_ and Sirius waits on the other end of the line probably wondering what the hell’s going on-

“OK,” Sirius says, calmly, “I’m coming. I’m coming, darling.”

He leaves a pause, like he’s giving Remus the chance to say no, and never mind that he can’t say anything at all, in what parallel universe would he ever _not_ want Sirius to come for him? He suddenly realises that Sirius must be able to hear his drowning-man breathing, and for one utterly irrational second he tries to stop. Then, thank God, Sirius starts talking again and it shocks him out of it.

“Do you want me to keep talking? You’re only down the road, right? I’m on my way. Just- if you feel like you need to move, then move, but otherwise I’m coming right to you, OK?”

Remus makes a small noise on the next brief exhale.

He can’t move.

But maybe he doesn’t have to.

His head throbs; he clutches the phone like a lifeline.

“Did I tell you that James gave me this super fancy spray that’s supposed to make you sleep better? I figured we could just start with it on the pillow, but knowing me I’ll probably need to down the stuff for it to have any effect at all- I’m just crossing Gamp Road, I’ll be there before you know it.”

 _Probably not_ , Remus thinks, even as Sirius says, “Shit. Sorry, that was a stupid thing to say. I’ll be two minutes, literally. More like a minute and a half. Just keep breathing, darling. I’m just going to keep talking, I’m sorry if that isn’t right but you’re- you’re going to be fine.”

Remus hears the dead space just before Sirius redirects.

 _You’re really scaring me_. Or maybe: _you’re really pushing it, Remus_. Because he’s supposed to be revising, Sirius is, that’s why Remus went out to the shops so Sirius could go over his notes-

And then there’s blood in his mouth as he finally breaks the skin of his lower lip and the buzz in his brain gets louder.

“I can see you, darling. It’s OK. It’s OK-”

Sirius is there, in the supermarket, standing right in front of him, concern written across his features, like- like a drawing, or a photograph, something that’s not quite real.

 _Oh_ , Remus realises, _I can hang up now_ -

And Sirius’ hands are gently on his, taking the shopping basket (there are grooves on his palm from where he’s been clutching it so tight) and his phone, too, and Remus feels coiled tight and falling apart all at once.

“Come on, Moony,” Sirius says, so softly that Remus can barely hear it, and he does.

Numb.

Everything piles on top of him, the chill of the air outside, the high-pitched trill of the pedestrian crossing, the laughter of a group of girls ebbing past on the pavement. Sirius’ hand comes softly onto his elbow, and he tries to think only of that, clearing everything else out, only following that light touch.

It works enough to get back into Sirius’ flat. Only then does Remus give in utterly, and he submits to the terror and weightlessness and nothingness of a full-fledged certified panic attack because he’s too goddamned tired to hold it off any longer.

Sirius stays. Remus is conscious of that. He stays, and holds him, and Remus never sees his face so he can kid himself that maybe Sirius isn’t scared by just how fucked up Remus is; that maybe he isn’t filled with a natural revulsion at the way a grown man has just fallen to pieces in front of him.

 _Just focus on his smell_ , he tells himself, _on how he smells and how he’s holding you. Don’t set another one off_.

He manages not to fall back in, after a few minutes of concerted effort. He breathes, and he smells Sirius’ shower gel and the slight tang of cold from outside and the stronger sharp scent of turpentine that clings to almost everything in here, and that gradually slows everything back down.

“Are you back?” Sirius asks, quietly, and Remus, not quite able to talk just yet, nods.

 _I’m back. I’m back_.

He presses his face unthinkingly into Sirius’ chest. Sirius doesn’t say anything, but the soft gusting of his sigh and the gentle weight of his arms settling around Remus speaks volumes.

“What set it off?” Sirius asks, eventually, and Remus swallows.

“Nothing,” He answers, in a small, cracked voice. “Just- I get like this, during exams.”

“OK,” Sirius’ voice is calm. “Can I do anything else?”

“Revise,” Remus says, instantly. “I don’t want to disrupt-”

“ _Hush_ ,” Sirius says firmly, and Remus can feel him moving seeking out Remus’ face. Reluctantly, he looks up. Sirius’ grey eyes bore into him.

“Listen, Moony. I am _fine_ for this exam. If I don’t get a first I’ll eat my fucking paintbrushes.”

Remus snorts, weakly. Sirius’ expression shifts almost imperceptibly towards relief, and Remus’ chest spasms. He squashes the feeling down before it can show in his face, and nods.

“OK,” He says, quietly, and Sirius squeezes him tighter.

“Want to stay here?”

Remus doesn’t think he’s capable of walking, just yet, so he nods, and they stay wrapped around each other on the sofa as the morning wears on.

At some point, Sirius’ phone buzzes.

“Fuck off,” Sirius says, irreverently, and Remus really does laugh this time. Then he braces his hand on Sirius’ chest and pushes himself upright.

“Need to revise,” He says, half-apologetically. “I tend to, ah, fuck up more, when I’m not doing anything.” His voice _barely_ shakes, and that’s an achievement.

Sirius frowns, but doesn’t question it.

“You’ll be back for dinner?”

“Yes, _mother_.”

“I am not motherly!” Sirius cries, curling down into the sofa and glaring mock-threateningly up at Remus. “You take that back!”

Remus considers for a long moment.

“Nope.”

The last thing he hears as the door swings closed behind him is Sirius’ angry growl.

~~~

The next week and a half passes in a blur. Remus moves back into flat one and hardly notices. He’s too wrapped up in the maelstrom of pressure and self-disgust to pay attention to anything as mundane as his surroundings. The only positive is that he has just one more breakdown, and Lily’s around to see him through it. For him, that’s approaching a miracle. Sirius constantly sends him reminders to eat and drink, and Remus misses him like a hollow ache in his chest. He ignores it. He has bigger problems.

~~~

“Stop writing now.” The invigilator, a grizzled man with nearly white hair glares down at them. Remus drops his biro. His hand is shaking and pain lances through his tendons as he stretches his fingers out. Eight pages of cramped handwriting in two hours, days and weeks of frantic revision and sleepless nights- but it’s over. It’s _over_. He’s made it to the other side.

Outside, Lily careens into him and nearly lifts him into the air with the force of her hug. Remus finds himself laughing, half giddy and half numb.

“We’ve done it! We’ve done it, we’ve done it…” She sings, and Remus punches the air to make her laugh. Lily starts a strange, celebratory dance that takes her on a weaving path towards the exit, and Remus follows, fishing in his rucksack for his phone.

 **Remus** : done

 **Sirius** : !!!!!

well done moooonnnyyyyyyy

happy?

 **Remus** : words cannot describe the relief I feel rn

 **Sirius** : I am exquisitely proud of u, moon

 

Remus grins, and lets the feeling of warmth spread up his spine.

The air outside is crisp and so cold that Remus winces. Lily, oblivious, continues whooping madly, high-fiving their classmates as they traipse down the pavement, and Remus can only hope it’s been well gritted and he won’t have to take her to hospital. The clouds mass overhead; but all Remus can feel is relief. It’s _done_.

Then Lily is spinning around and yelling, “It’s snowing!”

A ripple going through the crowd of jaded, cynical students as everyone starts craning their necks to look up at the threatening sky. A tiny white flake drifts downwards and lands on Remus’ shoulder.

“It _is_ snowing,” He says in surprise. And everyone seems to erupt.

They find Sirius and James in the park, hours later, when a layer of white frosting has drifted down to settle over the city. Remus is bundled into a woolly hat, two jumpers and a scarf, and he’s already been hit at least twice by Lily’s snowballs so that icy water has dripped down the back of his neck and the tip of his nose is bright red, and he can’t seem to stop himself from dashing up to Sirius and dumping as much snow as he can physically carry over his head.

James howls with laughter; Sirius sputters; Lily tosses yet another snowball into their midst. All around them, the high-pitched yells of children and over-excited adults mingle in the frozen air. One look at Sirius, drenched and laughing, nearly stops Remus’ heart. Then James shoves the pair of them backwards into a snowbank and the world jolts back into motion.

A feeling of euphoria runs through the streets as the snow continues to fall: as though nobody can quite believe their luck, and the humdrum routine is gradually stifled, smothered, then finally stopped, by a blanket of white. The four of them drip their way back to James’ flat, laughing, released from the shackles of exams and revision. They spend the afternoon sprawled in a pile on the cushions, the heating cranked up, arguing and teasing one another. Remus has the swallowed-helium-feeling, and he revels in it. Outside, the snow continues to fall.

“You coming back to mine?” Sirius asks, when James and Lily finally chuck them out. Remus is distracted by the feeling of crunching under his shoes, and the way the snow glows like ash, or embers, in the orange streetlight.

“Yeah.”

They walk, easily, side-by-side, back to the place that Remus is almost starting to think of as home.

~~~

Lectures grind back underway with depressing swiftness, but Remus finds himself surprisingly rejuvenated- less weighed-down, less exhausted. Less depressed, he supposes, although it’s all relative and the anxiety certainly hasn’t disappeared like Sirius has waved a magic wand, and…

 _Oh, fuck it_. He is doing better than he was. Even Peter’s noticed that he’s less manic, which is saying something. Remus spends more time in his own flat, to Sirius’ chagrin, but it’s better now that exams are over and everything is a little less intense. The snow stays for a week, though; Sirius slips and slides everywhere and seems delighted. Remus just delights in watching him (although he’s a little relieved when it finally melts away- the threat of broken bones never seems far when Sirius is dancing about on the slick pavement). They cook for each other, they study together: well, Lily and Remus do their readings, whilst Sirius lounges about and asks impertinent questions. They ignore him. Time seems to slide past easily, slowly. A tranquillity has come to them all, a brief period of respite, and they are all determined to enjoy it.

It’s Lily’s party that seems to mark the closing of that glorious, calm season. Strictly, it’s not Lily’s fault: the quiet few weeks of introducing modules are over; group projects are being assigned; the academic clock ticking back up to its customary frenetic speed. Still, Remus can’t shake the way the event becomes inextricably linked to _ending_ , to leaving behind a space in time that was as close to a safe harbour as he ever gets. He deals with this by sticking by Sirius’ side like a shadow for the whole night, borne through the sweaty darkness of dancefloors and bars on Sirius’ wave of charm and good humour. Lily gets completely smashed and dances to her heart’s content. Her friends ( _their_ friends, Remus reminds himself, he knows so many of them now) laugh and dance along with her and manage to talk her out of body shots. Sirius looks mildly disappointed, but doesn’t protest when Remus shakes his head. Peter stays out almost the whole night, and although Remus is pleased to see him out and having a good time, not being able to reach out and touch Sirius whenever he wants is a strange, stifling kind of agony. It makes discomfort lodge deep in his chest. Still, he does what he does best, and ignores it. The music thrums in his ears, and Lily seizes him by the wrists and drags him out to dance, and Remus lets himself forget.

Stumbling home at four in the morning, Remus wearing James’ jacket (he’d forgotten to bring his own) and Sirius attached to James like a limpet (“He’s got _body heat_ , OK? And anyway, you love me Prongs.”), Remus feels a strange pang of joy. They’re just drunk students, weaving a path down the frozen pavement and waking up the unfortunate souls who live on their street, but they’re _together_. They’re together, and they have one another in a strange, unknowable way, one that isn’t so visible in the cold light of day- but with alcohol burning in their veins and adrenaline carving clear tracks through their thought, the lines linking them seem as clear as starlight, as clear as arcs of electricity that span the intervening air. It’s the marks of belonging, the living strings that tie them close. It’s safety and it’s joy and it’s a fierce love that sears the skin as it touches. Remus reflects that he’s probably a bit pissed, but decides he likes the thought anyway. He bundles himself tighter in James’ jacket, and follows them home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was a super delicate one, as I said. I would adore you if you'd let me know what you thought.  
> Anyways thank you all for your unending patience, I will never stop being grateful. If you want to heckle me/see what else I'm writing, you can find me on my tumblr http://itscooltobefanficy.tumblr.com/
> 
> I love hearing from you and chatting to you, even if it's castigating me for the long space between updates.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Um...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the love goes to my beta who whipped this into shape and got it back to me in double-quick time <3 And so much love to you all for reading and supporting and generally being lovely <3
> 
> Trigger warnings: homophobia, mild anxiety/panic attack, emotional shut down, mentions of past parental abuse. If you see anything else pls let me know .

The next morning is perfect- right up until the moment Peter ruins everything. 

Remus wakes up slowly, easily. A familiar weight is pressed to his chest; when he opens his eyes, he can barely see past the tangled mass of black hair. A few strands have snuck their way into Remus’ mouth. The sensation doesn’t improve his already substantial hangover, but he can’t bring himself to care. He lifts his free hand to awkwardly brush Sirius’ hair away from his face, then settles back and closes his eyes. They’re sprawled out on the sofa in his flat, where Sirius had dragged him last night (before promptly falling asleep). Lectures, as far as Remus is concerned, can wait; right now, he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be.

They doze for an indeterminate passage of time. Outside, the world is going through the usual motions. The sounds of car horns, conversation, and wheelie bins being dragged about form a comforting background hum. In here, though, it’s quiet and dim and soothing. Sirius’ breathing is  soft, gentle, even. Remus drifts contentedly. He has a seminar at twelve, but he’s not going. Lily will no doubt berate him, but he doesn’t care. With his fingers spread reflexively through Sirius’ hair, the rest of the world seems… superficial, like a dream already fading in the face of the dawn .

 On the other side of the room, the door swings open to reveal Peter.

Iced water surges through Remus’ veins, and a single, shaking breath sears the peace from his bones . He can pinpoint the exact moment Peter understands the little vignette he’s stumbled into: his eyes widen, his mouth drops slightly open. The silence unspools between them.

“Remus-”  Peter finally starts, but something breaks inside Remus at that moment, something jagged and fierce and feral.

“Get out.” He hisses. His free hand drops over Sirius’ sleeping shoulders protectively. Peter takes a breath, but that’s all Remus will let him take.

“Get. Out.” He breathes, and his voice is low and harsh and venomous.

Peter takes a step back. Then he shakes his head,  the very _image_ of sanctimonious sorrow, and disappears back through the door. Remus heaves through a couple of breaths. He presses a shaking hand to his mouth. His heart is trying to escape through his ribs.

_Sirius is still asleep_ , Remus realises, and for a second he’s hysterically grateful, before he remembers that he’ll have to tell him, and now, before he has a fucking panic attack and wakes him up anyway. He reaches back down, gently nudging Sirius’ shoulder.

“Sirius.”

Sirius makes a snuffling sound, before blearily twisting his head to glare through squinting eyes. The way his expression softens when his gaze settles on Remus is a harbour in the storm.

“So early,” He grumbles. Remus lets out a shaky laugh, and, thank god, that’s enough to telegraph how utterly fucked up everything has suddenly become. Sirius’ focus visibly sharpens.  “You OK?”

Remus’ throat clenches up. His lungs feel like they’re shrinking. But he forces himself to say it.

“Peter just came in here.”

The words drop out of his mouth like stones.

Sirius _recoils_.

Then he curls closer immediately, like he’s aware of what that made Remus think, even if it was only for half a second-

“Sorry, sorry , darling. It’s OK. I’m not going anywhere.” Sirius presses his fervent apologies to Remus’ sternum, and Remus thinks that he might not throw up, after all. For a few moments, he just holds onto Sirius, like he’s a comfort blanket and Remus is tiny again. Sirius rests his head on Remus’ chest. Silence hangs over them.

“I’m too hungover to deal with this.” Remus eventually attempts a feeble stab at humour, unable to take the weight of quiet any longer. Sirius looks up and smiles faintly. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

Then his gaze slides away.

“Fuck,” Sirius mutters. His hand fits around Remus’ bicep  and squeezes, as though it’s an anchor or a lifeline. Remus knows how he feels. “ _Fuck_.”

“He didn’t say anything,” Remus manages. Sirius looks at him again, eyebrows quirked in a silent question, and Remus feels a strange rush of pride. “I didn’t let him.”

This time, Sirius’ smile is the sun through broken-up clouds. The film of tears forming in his eyes isn’t exactly reassuring, though.

“You’re a fucking miracle,” Sirius sniffs, swiping at his eyes, “Sorry, sorry for-”

Remus is instinctively reaching to pull him closer  when Sirius’ face hardens. Just like that night outside the pub: a switch is thrown, a curtain drops, and Sirius disappears behind a mask of marble. The angry, distraught judder of his breathing drops away . The worry lines disperse. The tears disappear. The only indication that something’s wrong is the downward quirk of his mouth. Remus can feel himself staring.

Sirius glances back at him.

“I’m fine,” He says, in a voice as flat and dead as the ice over a frozen lake . It makes Remus’ skin crawl. “Sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” Sirius sits up; the loss of contact chills Remus to the bone.

“Sirius-” Remus begins, then falters. He can’t bring himself to start an argument, not now, but he’s fucking creeped out by what just happened. “What- what was that?” He strives to keep the nervousness out of his voice.

“What was what?”

The grin Sirius tries to give him is all wrong, and Remus,  wants to cry. He’s just so goddamn tired and  now it feels like Sirius is, once again, trying to fucking lock him out before he even gets a chance to help. He shoves up on his elbows, narrowing the space between them.

“The emotions-wipe you just gave me,” He snaps, then winces, awaiting the inevitable razor-sharp retort.

But it doesn’t come.  After an eternal moment, Sirius starts breathing again: breathing how Remus would _expect_ , with his hand clenched in a fist  and emotions waging war behind his eyes. His lip trembles. A minute passes in silence. Sirius draws up, inward, his spine stretched tight enough to snap, legs curling underneath, peeling away from every point of contact with Remus. The only thing that keeps Remus from tearing completely away is Sirius’ expression. It’s familiar in the worst way: it speaks of a truth trapped behind his teeth, yet another piece of the past that needs to be torn free. Remus forces himself to stay silent. There are a few moments when Remus is sure Sirius is about to speak- but he backs off each time, unable to make the leap from thought to speech.

Remus reaches out, cautiously, and Sirius no longer pulls away. With Remus’ hand on his shoulder, he seems to breathe easier.

Finally, finally, Sirius manages a handful of words.

“Force of habit.”

The bitterness laced through each syllable is acidic, poisonous.  

“Family?” Remus asks, hesitantly, when it’s clear that Sirius won’t say any more without prompting.

A spasm passes over Sirius’ face.

“Indeed.”

“OK,” Remus says, only partly to himself, “OK. It’s OK.”

Sirius shudders, and whatever force was holding him in seems to snap apart. He lurches towards Remus, burying his head under Remus’ chin, hands gripping tight to Remus’ shirt. Remus drapes his arms around him without a second thought as relief starts to burn through the freezing dread that had settled in his chest.

Eventually Sirius says, in a muffled voice that’s all but cracking apart at the edges, “Mother caught me once. When I was fifteen. Apparently- I’m not as over it as- as I thought I was.”

Remus winds his fingers tighter in Sirius’ hair, as if to shield him from the memory.

“She said that I wasn’t going to eat for two days,” Sirius continues, dully. “That was the first time I ran away.”

Remus bites down on the wave of rage and horror rising in his throat. Instead, he asks, “To James’?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Would it help if he was here?” Remus asks, cautiously, and Sirius looks up at him.

“Yeah,” He says, “Yeah, it would.”

~~

James and Lily arrive together. Remus can’t bring himself to say over the phone what’s just occurred: he’s doing well just to say that they’re needed . He leaves Sirius on the sofa to open the door – thankfully, Peter seems to have left the flat entirely -  and finds the pair of them stood on the porch.

“What’s going on?” Lily asks, immediately, as James steps past Remus to go in search of his friend. Remus’ mouth twists; one hand fists and he presses the knuckles to his lips.

“Peter came in, this morning.” The words taste sharp in his mouth. He feels ill all over again.

Lily is silent for a moment. Then she looks up .

“Fuck.”

Remus can’t quite laugh, but he does relax a little. Lily pulls him into a gentle hug. When they break apart, he can see her expression: pale, set, and dangerous.

“If he gives you _any_ shit-”

“I know,” Remus sighed, scrubbing a hand through his messy hair. “I know. But it’s just- the knowing. That he’s going to- ah, fuck. Fuck.”

“You’re stronger than he is,” Lily says, firmly. “You’re stronger than all this shit.”

Remus snorts.

“Glad at least one of us believes that.”

Lily’s eyes tighten at the edges, but she seems to decide against arguing. Instead, she steps through the door and heads inside. After a moment to collect himself, Remus follows. They find James and Sirius sat side-by-side; Sirius leaning forwards, arms braced on his knees, hair hanging down to hide his face, James rubbing a soothing hand between his shoulder blades.

“Do you want anything?” Lily asks, bustling around the worktop. “I’m having tea.”

Remus sinks down beside James.

“Tea, please.”

“One for me, Lils. Sirius?”

Sirius only shakes his head. Remus can tell his breathing is still off, and he has to look away because his eyes are stinging and he doesn’t want any of them to have to deal with  _his_ precious little crisis as well. Instead , he digs his nails into the palm of one hand and breathes through it. _One, two, three_. When he next looks up, Sirius has uncurled a little, and one hand is white-knuckled around James’ wrist.

“Pads,” James  murmurs, “you’re alright. Nobody’s mad. You’re fine.”

The gentling words strike Remus like a blow. Sirius’ shoulders rise and fall. His eyes slide closed. Remus can’t stand it.

Wordlessly,  he settles down in front of Sirius. The floor is cold; a draught must be seeping in from somewhere. Sirius’ eyes are closed again, faint lines webbing out from the edges, eyeliner smudged under his lashes.

“I’m not going anywhere, Padfoot,” Remus says, haltingly. “I’m _not_ leaving you.”

Sirius’ eyes fly open. Then he reaches out, palm upturned, a gesture of supplication. Remus follows it without hesitation. He presses alongside Sirius, lacing their fingers together, feeling the iron grip of tendons and the heat from Sirius’ skin as they lean their shoulders together.

The kettle boils. Remus hadn’t even registered the sound. His focus has narrowed to a two-foot radius: the steady easing of Sirius’ breathing as he backs away from the edge, the flex of the pads of his fingers against the back of Remus’ hand.

“James, can we head to yours after we’ve drunk this? You two,” Lily directs her tone at Remus and Sirius, “Need to change your clothes and eat something.”

“How do you know I’ve got clothes at James’?” Sirius’ voice is tiny, slightly breathy- but it’s not jagged and torn-up like before. Remus squeezes his hand. Lily just raises an eyebrow.

“Because if I’m James’ girlfriend, then you’re practically married.” 

A weak smile almost makes it out across Remus’ mouth, as Lily hands him a mug.

“Excellent plan, flower,” James replies, and Remus nearly inhales his first mouthful of tea. Lily doesn’t even say anything as she hits him in the shoulder.

“Like you don’t have ridiculous names for Sirius,” She says, scornfully.

“Like Sirius doesn’t have ridiculous names for _you_  ,” James’ leans around to grin at Remus, and Remus can’t describe how grateful he is for their gentle teasing as Sirius makes a good stab at an exasperated sigh.

“ _Moony_ is perfectly justified,” He grumbles, and something tight and fearful unlocks in Remus’ chest. Catching Lily’s similarly relieved expression, he nudges Sirius’ shoulder.

“Better than _flower_.”

James sets his tea carefully on the floor before shoving the pair of them in retribution. Sirius stands on his foot. Lily clears her throat loudly before it can escalate any further, though Remus can see the relief in her eyes as the tension in the air dissipates.

“Children. Be quiet and drink your tea.”

“Yes, flower.”

“Oh, shut up, _Moony_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm... sorry? *holds hands over head and backs away slowly*
> 
> (Not to mention I'm going to be very slow with the next chapter because I'm right in the middle of exams, a sudden revival in my pencil drawings and four other WIPs... I'M SORRY I'M SO SORRY)
> 
> Find me on my tumblr, itscooltobefanficy!


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yet another aftermath.
> 
>  
> 
> Warnings for a dissociative episode, urge to self-harm and panic attacks. Look after yourselves <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, guys, I can't begin to say how much I've missed you. Is that weird? I don't really know you, but I have missed you. A lot's been happening in life. A lot of it good- passed those exams! Fuck yeah! Starting work soon! Exciting! Writing a load of new projects! Woo! But some of it (revision, new projects, work when it eventually starts) have eaten into the time I can dedicate to this, my baby. This fic is so special to me. Rest assured that it is not abandoned and I am inching my way inexorably forwards. (This is a short chapter because it's necessary to the plot and I'm not in any kind of shape to write the next bit yet- but the next one will be enormous, trust me).  
> I wasn't planning to post this tonight (if my beta is reading this, sorry about that) but it looks like my family might be going through yet more upheaval in the not-too-distant future. This fic was born out of my grief and although it's often been painful (this chapter actually reduced me to tears a couple of times) it's also my safe place, and I'm so glad I can share that with you <3

“You’re not dealing with this alone.”

Lily uses her most matter of fact voice, and Remus clings to the certainty lying underneath it. From the other room, he can hear the shower running; they had finally convinced Sirius to let go of Remus’ hand once they’d reached James’ flat and persuaded him into the bathroom. Through the door to the kitchen, the lilting cadence of James’ rapid-fire Punjabi comes in bursts as he talks to his parents on the phone. Remus looks down at his hands.

“I know.”

The scratching, burning urge to start picking at his cuticles is surging in waves through his brain, but each time it tugs at his fingertips he fights it back. Not now, not here. Not with Lily looking on. When he was alone in the bedroom, changing into the clothes he’d grabbed from his room before they’d left number twenty-seven, he’d been briefly seized by the urge to feel the pure, sharp sting of a fresh cut opening up on the meat of his thigh- but he’d swallowed it down and torn from the room as fast as he could.

_No more_ , he told himself, _no more_.

Whether he could hold to that promise remained to be seen.

“Well. Good.” Lily nods to herself, and Remus nearly smiles.

~~

Later, when he’s in the bathroom, he grips the edges of the sink and breathes.

_Sirius is fine_ , he tries to tell himself, _Sirius is OK_. And he is. He’s sprawled out in James’ very nice sitting room, watching Gossip Girl or some other show that Remus has never seen, making catty comments and generally acting like everything’s normal. Lily’s probably still braiding his hair. He’s _fine_.

But that doesn’t stop the grey tide rising up Remus’ throat, a sensation somewhere between petrification and freezing.

_This is all it takes!_ A voice screams, _just one fucking thing and you’re dropped back into this stupid fucking spiral!_

_Weak! Pathetic! Useless!_

Remus bites down on his lip, hard.

_Three things you see_. _Come on, Remus, it’s not hard._

Lily taught him how to do this. He sucks in a shaky, shallow breath.

_The slightly yellow sheen from the bathroom light, reflecting off the curve of the sink._ He manages to lift his head. _A narrow-faced boy with wild looking eyes, hair falling down over his forehead, expression taut_. He used to count his freckles, he remembers- when he was in school, and skidding out of the lines of mental control, he used to stare at his forearms and catalogue the marks that nature, rather than torture, plotted onto his skin. _One more_. He refocuses. _The mirror itself, spotted slightly with toothpaste._

_Good. Now, three things you hear._

Remus forces himself to tune in. _The bathroom has a fan: it whirs in the background. There’s the faint sound of a pigeon cooing from outside the window. Sirius’ distinctive bark of laughter_. Remus feels the bands around his chest coming ever so slightly apart.

_And three things you feel. Simple_.

Oh, God, he can’t think about that. Even just reaching out to the physical sensations is too much, too close to the raw centre. He pulls frantically back and tries not to let his breathing run away from him.

“Remus?” There’s a soft knock on the door. “You’ve been in there a long time, babe.”

Hysteria claws at Remus’ lungs. Because _of course_ Sirius has to come and comfort him, of course Sirius has to put aside the worst memories of his own life to come and deal with his fuck-up of a boyfriend-

A tiny wheeze escapes his mouth.

“Moony?” Sirius sounds worried. “If you want to be alone, just say, but-”

Remus forces himself into uncoordinated motion. He lurches across the room, turns the lock, and one hand has to find the jamb, otherwise he’s going to struggle to stay upright. Sirius wastes no time. The expression of concern on his beautiful face is enough to make Remus’ heart crumple.

“What do you need, darling?” Sirius asks, low and sure, and Remus gulps a few times. Then he shakes his head, and reaches out.

Sirius fits himself around Remus in a way that Remus’ brain thinks shouldn’t be possible. His psyche makes him feel jagged, dangerous, twisted; like there’s no room for anyone else, no sensible space for comfort or an embrace. But Sirius is careful. He doesn’t try to crush Remus back into shape. Instead, he noses under the tense plane of Remus’ chest; he winds his arms around the back of Remus’ shoulders like a slow-growing vine; he presses up against Remus’ front as a solid, certain warmth that immediately, steadily, starts the thaw. A gasp shudders through Remus’ chest.

“’S OK,” Sirius mutters. “It’s OK, Moony. You can cry if you want.”

He does want to cry, he realises it with Sirius’ words, and the mere thought is enough to make his face contort. He ducks his head. A sob tears at his throat.

“It’s OK, darling. It’s OK, I know, it’s OK.”

Remus realises that Sirius is pressing soft kisses to his shoulder in between each soothing word, and that’s enough to utterly take him apart. At first, it feels hard to cry, as though each wracking breath is meeting some kind of internal resistance- but, slowly, the restraints loosen off. He cries like a child after injury, tears smeared, nose running, and all the while Sirius holds him and doesn’t let go.

When the worst is finally past, Remus sniffs. “I’m sorry,” He whispers.

“Violation of code one,” Sirius murmurs. Then, before Remus can argue, he turns his head and blows a raspberry on the bare skin of Remus’ neck.

“What-?!” Remus shies away, a yelp and a laugh and a left-over sob exploding out of him all at once. Sirius is giggling. Remus looks down at him, wiping the spit away. “You,” He informs his boyfriend, “Are a little shit.”

Sirius grins toothily at him, then offers a wad of tissue. “Peace offering?”

Remus accepts it without comment and starts cleaning his face.

“You should come watch with us.” Sirius is looking at him like he isn’t a fractured and fucked-up excuse for a human being, and Remus has to take a moment to breathe through it, to breathe through those soft eyes and barely shuddering mouth. Then he wipes the last of the moisture from his face, bins the tissues, and nods.

“OK.”

Something must still be off in his voice, because Sirius steps back into his space and pulls him closer, fastening a hand around the back of his neck. Remus sighs into the touch.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” He says, and he sounds a little more certain; isn’t he always, these days, when Sirius is touching him? Sirius just laughs.

“I like having a human cuddle pillow, Moony.”

“Even a scrawny one?” Remus mutters, on reflex, and gets a pinch to the nape of his neck. “Ow.”

“ _Especially_ a scrawny one, titface. And I like being able to be strong for you, too.”

His second comment is too throwaway to be meaningless, and Remus draws up until he can see the lines of Sirius’ face. They’re open, honest, and his eyes are still bright.

“Trust me. Lily’s already given me the ‘don’t sweep your emotions under the rug talk’, and I swear I’m not. It just makes me feel good, looking after you.” A wicked smile twitches at the corner of Sirius’ mouth. “Even if you are a scrawny titface.”

Remus rolls his eyes so hard it nearly hurts, then butts his head forward until his lips brush Sirius’ forehead. “Guess I’ll shut up, then.”

“Good call, Moony dearest, good call. Now we should probably get back, otherwise Jamie will think we’re fucking in the bathroom and he’ll go all disapproving on me. He hates mess on the tiles.”

Remus can’t work out whether to laugh or splutter, and produces a combination of the two. Sirius grins.

“Come on, darling.” Sirius stands back and pushes the door open. “Let’s go put our lives back together with shitty TV and terrible food.”

And, in that moment, Remus has never heard of anything better.

~~

It does help. It helps so much that he could cry all over again- although he doesn’t, because that would probably worry them all too much. Instead, he just holds Sirius close and laughs at Lily’s incessant questions about characters she doesn’t recognise and barely even realises how much he’s settled back into his own skin. That night he sleeps on the couch, and when Sirius wakes up shouting there are three pairs of hands reaching out to help and soothe; and, later the next day, when he’s braced on the doorstep (talking himself up to stepping outside into the sting of other people’s eyes, back into the rush and batter of the real world), James is at his elbow, smiling easily and hiding his concern so deep that Remus can barely see it.

When he gets back from his seminar, Lily answers the door, her expression grim.

“What?”

Lily steps back to let him in, and doesn’t answer until he’s shucked off his raincoat and spattered the hallway with the last of the downpour.

“Peter texted me.”

Remus should have been prepared for it: but somehow, the blow still catches him in the stomach, nearly winding him. Lily pats his shoulder. He can tell she’s unsettled- her teeth are caught over her lower lip, lines have stitched themselves between her eyebrows, and her reassuring touch is slightly too heavy. He reaches up to stroke the back of her hand, and in the middle of that motion a door crashes open and footsteps sound down the hall.

“He’s home!” Sirius bounds into view, hair in disarray, headphones hanging round his neck. As usual, in spite of the news Lily has just delivered, Remus’ heart twitches happily at the sight of him. “Hello, boyfriend.”

“Somebody call off the puppy,” Lily repeats James’ usual joke with only a hint of tension, and Sirius sticks out his tongue at her as he hangs off Remus’ shoulders. Then, with no warning, he licks a stripe up Remus’ cheek, and Remus is forced to wrestle him away.

“I’m glad you can all appreciate just how insufferable he is to live with,” James sticks his head out of the kitchen. “OK, Lil?”

Remus thanks all the powers that be for James’ supernatural perceptiveness when it comes to his girlfriend. He swallows, and lets Sirius out of his headlock.

“Peter’s texted.”

Sirius lets out a groan and hides his face in Remus’ jumper. It’s a sign of how bad things were that Remus takes it as a good sign.

“Right,” James’ face sobers instantly, “Snacks. And a war council. In that order.”

Remus drops a kiss on the top of Sirius’ scruffy black hair. “Come by, Sirius. Come by.”

Sirius, in return, hits him.

~~

Ten minutes later the four of them are sat on the sofa, staring at the battered coffee table. Lily’s phone is lit up, a handful of words illuminated.

**Peter: when are you guys coming back? Need to talk.**

“Not giving much away, is he?” James voices his contribution around a crunching mouthful of Dorito. As the initiator of the war council, he seems to have assumed the position of chairman, which apparently also involves consuming all the food.

“He doesn’t have to,” Remus points out, “Although I’m not sure what he needs to talk about.”

“Precisely. We don’t need a discussion to know that the next five months of living together are going to be the most awkward of our lives.” Lily nudges the screen with her socked foot, glaring at it like it’s done her a personal wrong.

“I don’t see why you have to go back.”

Remus turns his head to look at Sirius, who is wearing a mulish expression.

“Because it’s our _house_ ,” Lily says, firmly, “And I’m not moving in with this idiot-” She elbows James, sat on her right, “- Until he learns to keep food out of the bed.”

“And we’re still paying rent,” Remus adds, his stomach giving an unpleasant squirm.

“Right. Moving out: not an option,” James says, formally. “Mind you, I’m _not_ an idiot, Evans, and I’m deducting you points for that.”

Lily rolls her eyes and shoves her shoulder into him.

“We have to tell him something,” Remus admits, finally. It makes his stomach feel like lead to say it, but he’s probably the king of running away from problems, and he knows a lost cause when he sees it.

“I’ve got two words,” Sirius voice turns delighted and vengeful, but, before he can finish his sentence, the other three cut across him.

“Fuck off!”

“Fucking rude,” Sirius snorts, but Remus can hear the teasing note in his words and he relaxes. On the other end of the sofa, James raises the crisp packet.

“Pads: like the spirit, but probably not practical.” A scuffle breaks out over the bag of Doritos- Lily and Remus bear it stoically until Sirius growls out, “Fuck you, Prongs-”

“No jokes about who should be fucking who,” Lily says, loudly, and the two of them subside (Remus, to his own astonishment, stifling a laugh), sheepishly brushing away orange crumbs. “Basically, we need to tell him to leave us the fuck alone, but not in such a horrible way that it makes it impossible to cohabit with him.”

“Very strong, flower!” James plants a kiss on her temple, and Sirius splutters.

“Objection! Blatant favouritism!”

While another argument breaks out between the two best friends, Remus comes to a realisation.

“I think it should just be us.” He looks at Lily as he says it, searching for affirmation, ready to retract the idea if she should disagree- but her eyes meet his, and she nods.

“Yeah.”

Behind their heads, Sirius and James separate and resume listening. Remus twists his mouth into an approximation of a smile. “Probably best to get it over with.”

“Wait, wait-” Sirius leans forward, pushing himself into the conversation, “You’re not doing this just because you want to keep us out of the way?”

Remus searches his expression and finds a thread of real hurt there: he stifles his initial irritation and shakes his head firmly. “It’s not about that, Pads.”

By his side, Lily snorts and reaches out for her phone. “After all, it’s only Peter. What can he really do?”

“Suffocate you with self-righteousness,” Sirius mutters, but quietens when Remus hooks an arm around his shoulder. The three of them watch over Lily’s shoulder as she types. The swooshing sound of the message sending is very loud.

**Lily: OK. Tomorrow afternoon.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, for reading and leaving feedback. I know I've not been answering comments, and it will take me a while to get back into that. I will, though. If you're not sure whether I'm reading your comments, I am, and they mean the world to me. Sometimes they come when I really need it. Love to all <3
> 
> P.S. Come by! Is a command given to sheepdogs when herding sheep, if you were confused by that! Basically Remus being a lil shit to his boyfriend.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to free-fall off that cliff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU GUYS I'VE MISSED YOU ALL SO MUCH.  
> OK, I've got that out of my system. Now it's time to say three things:  
> \- Thank you for your generous comments (beyond generous holy shit so many of them have made me cry joyous tears), kudos and love throughout this long hiatus (last updated in July?!)  
> \- I actually still haven't managed to respond to all of them but I am jumping on top of them as much as I possibly can and I love you all  
> \- FASTEN YER SEATBELTS WE'RE CLIFFJUMPING WITHOUT A PARACHUTE  
> Let's do this!!  
> P.S. thank you to the divine vague_enthusiast for beta-ing this again and again and again <3

On the stoop, Remus shakes all over. The overblown silhouette of his raincoat hides it well enough, but he’s painfully aware of the claws sinking into his lungs, the panicked rattle of his heart. Lily’s face is pale. She looks back at him. Determination clings to the flattened curve of her lower lip; a strand of hair escapes from beneath her hood.

“Let’s get it done,” She half-asks, and Remus bulls through his instinct to shake his head and run as fast and far as he possibly can.

“OK.” His voice is off. Lily grimaces; understanding, or apology. Her fingers scrabble in her bag, and out comes her key. Remus notices she’s added a new keyring. When he peers closer, he realises it’s a picture from the night of her birthday: the glare of a flash, the four of them in a row, Sirius pulling a face, James in the act of looking from Lily (grinning broadly under his arm) to his best friend, Remus at the far end, looking down at his drink, the suggestion of a smile on his face.

“I got Dunja-” Their coursemate who has her own printer, a commodity rarer and more precious than diamonds, “- to print it for me.”

Remus raises an eyebrow. “Did you have to pay her?”

“No.” Lily gives a little smile, and shrugs. “I blackmailed her, she forgot that it was my birthday.”

And the tension knotting up Remus’ abdomen dissolves slightly. He shakes his head as the lock clicks open, and together they step back inside number twenty-seven.

It’s dark beyond the door: the light is off, and the kitchen door is closed. Lily squares her shoulders and pushes her hood back, before taking three decisive strides towards Peter’s bedroom and banging her fist on the wood.

“Peter?”

There’s no answer. Lily looks back at Remus.

“Guess he’s not here.”

Remus breathes out something that might be a laugh. “After all that.”

“Hey,” Lily says, her voice steely, “We have the upper hand now.” She turns and marches through into the kitchen, sending weak daylight spilling into the hall, and Remus reflects on just how terrifying his best friend can be when she puts her mind to it.

The kitchen isn’t in too much of a state; of the three of them, Peter is probably the most likely to do his washing up, and there’s only a light scattering of tea-stained mugs across the various surfaces. Remus stares around, feeling a strange dissonance between the familiarity that stretches out to cradle him, and the twisting dread scratching at the lining of his throat. The two combined are bitterness, a broken-glass kind of heat, a sudden spike of revulsion at the unfairness of it all. This is his _home_.

It hadn’t occurred to Remus to be _angry_ before.

Of course, there had been the initial stamp and flare of shock, the sharp, heavy words of warning; but those had been governed by one sole instinct- to protect Sirius. After that, it had been the cautious process of rebuilding, of shoring up the walls, of holding himself upright and buttoning himself back into the shape of a human being, and rage had been so far from his mind that he wouldn’t have known what to do with it. There hadn’t been enough room in his head.

But now-

Lily pats his shoulder. “Thinking deep thoughts?”

Remus realises something of his revelation must have shown on his face, but he finds that when he opens his mouth the emotions are too large for him to articulate. He swallows, and stares at the wall, where a shred of tinsel clings to an ancient lump of blu-tack.

“I’m- really fucking angry,” He says, softly, and something hot and vicious seems to surge through him in response.

When he turns back to Lily, he finds that she’s smiling, knife-sharp and cold.

“Good.”

~~

Lily leans against the wall beside the fridge; Remus drops onto the sofa. He doesn’t want to- if anything, he wants to pace, like a caged wolf along a fence line, but he forces himself into stillness. The tension is high enough without him wearing a path in the floorboards. So he fidgets, and bounces his leg, and endures the seconds passing with as little grace as he can get away with. After a few minutes, his phone buzzes.

**Sirius:** **sending love**

**Sending love love**

**Don’t berate me for grammar**

**Im nervous**

Remus swallows down the tightness clinging around his neck and brings up the keyboard.

**Remus: You’re nervous?**

**Sirius: kick his ass**

**Remus: If you turn that into a meme I will kick yours**

**Sirius: whatever ur into ;)**

And Remus, to his own surprise, laughs. Lily merely looks up from her phone to send him an exasperated look; but, a few seconds later, she’s smiling, too.

“They’re probably sat around the table, conferring on what to send us,” She says, her voice suddenly soft and fond beneath the veneer of humour, and Remus can suddenly picture it: Sirius with his legs pulled up, chin resting on his knees, phone dangling from careless hands as he chews his bottom lip, and James opposite him, sprawled into as much space as possible, one hand flipping through his hair as the other batters out a text.

“Yeah,” He agrees, “Probably.”

Neither of them feel the need to say anything else; it would descend into territory that Lily termed ‘mushy’, and this isn’t the time. Regardless, Remus holds the notion close to him, like an antidote, or a charm. _Sending love, love_. Carefully, he puts his phone away.

The tap drips. Cars rumble on the street outside. Gusts of wind occasionally spatter rain against the tiny windows. The minutes crawl past. Lily continually rearranges her hair, tucking it behind one ear, then the other. Remus stares at his knees and reminds himself to keep breathing.

_Clunk_.

Remus jerks his head up- that’s the distinctive sound of the stiff external door, of footsteps in the communal hallway. Panic surges in his gullet, and he looks frantically at Lily. Wordlessly, she strides over to sit beside him.

The final seconds lurch past with almost indecent haste, the waiting dissipating in an instant. Their door unlocks, and Remus’ stomach gives an answering jolt. His spine yanks straight. Just as footsteps sound in the hall, he and Lily share one, final look- before a pudgy figure steps into the room.

“Hullo.”

Pete hasn’t changed enough over the past three days to align with the seismic shift that’s begun within Remus; he looks too ordinary, too normal. Remus stares at him, trying to process it.

“Hello, Peter.” Lily’s voice is a November wind, icy and bone-chilling. Peter chews his lip- and the door, inexplicably, opens behind him.

The stranger who walks into their kitchen is tall and neatly dressed- as though he’s working in some professional institute, even though he looks to be their age. His black hair is a little shorter than Sirius’ and it glistens with product, swept in a rigid wave to throw his wide forehead and hooked nose into sharp relief. Beneath straight eyebrows, dark eyes glitter with a light that Remus can only describe as calculating. Beside him, Lily goes as stiff as a board.

“This is Severus,” Peter says, but even he sounds nervous, clearly sensing the sudden tension, “He offered to mediate our conver-”

“No, he didn’t.”

Remus looks around as Lily half-rises from her seat. This Severus hasn’t even spared him a glance so far, but his beetle-black eyes are fixed on Lily.

“Hello,” He says, and his voice is as soft and innocuous as the stillness of a snake before it strikes, “Hello, Lily.”

Emotion flickers across his sallow face as he says her name, and Remus is standing up before he even knows what he’s doing. Lily doesn’t appear to notice; her attention is fixed on the intruder.

“You didn’t come here to mediate, did you, _Sev_ ,” She repeats, and the name she addresses him with is spat out like poison. Severus finally glances at Remus, and his lip curls.

“I’ll tell Mr Lupin everything he needs to know,” He says. Something cold and uneasy slides into Remus’ stomach.

“And then you’ll leave.”

Lily is shaking, Remus realises, trembling all over, and hatred for this stranger bubbles up inside him.

“You never said you knew Lily,” Pete says, and everything about him seems uncertain. Severus, still staring at Lily, waves him away like an irritating fly.

“She doesn’t like people to know,” He says, slowly, every syllable that’s supposedly for Peter thrown at Lily like a slap- and at that moment, Lily snaps.

“Oh my GOD!” Remus flinches at the fury in her voice, and instinctively moves aside as she takes a wrenching step forward. Her hands are balled into fists. “You still fucking speak for me, Severus?! After _everything_ -” Her voice hisses, as though the pain hidden behind the word is too much to contain, “- You walk in her and speak for me?!”

Severus stares at her. _Wounded_ , Remus realises, _he’s fucking wounded, as though he’s the one who’s been hurt by all this_ -

“I looked everywhere for you, Lily.” His voice is low, and hatefully, hurtfully, rational. “After school- after your breakdown-” The subtle emphasis on that word doesn’t escape Remus, _your_ breakdown, after _you_ fell apart, because it was all _your_ fault, “- I never stopped.”

Lily practically snarls at him.

“I didn’t want you to find me! You-” Her mouth contorts, as though she’s swallowed venom. Several sharp breaths heave through her. Severus is staring at her like she’s a child screaming in the supermarket, and further fury spikes behind Remus’ eyes.

“You pulled me apart, Sev.” Lily says, and, as abruptly as it came, her tearing rage gives way to something small and far more final. “You pulled me apart and you ground me down, and I don’t know why you still can’t see that.”

Severus, _unbelievably_ , is shaking his head. “No, Lily. No, you’ve got it all wrong. That was _them_ , that stupid crowd you fell in with…” His voice and demeanour changes in an instant; he draws himself taller, face growing sternly disappointed. “I thought you would have grown up enough to realise that.”

“Enough!” Lily explodes again, her voice storming through the small room. “Enough of the mind games!” She steps forward again, and Severus rears back, his expression growing ugly.

“You want to talk about mind games, you little-?”

Remus instinctively steps between them, heart thundering. Severus sneers at him.

“Don’t even try it, dog.”

“I think you should leave!” Peter’s voice is high and squeaky, but in this moment, Remus fully subscribes to the policy of _the enemy of my enemy is my friend_. Severus looks between them.

 “Lily…” His appeal is wheedling, but Remus doesn’t take his eyes off him; like watching a cobra, or a rattlesnake. “You know you’re not being fair.”

Lily steps up beside Remus. Her face is nearly bloodless, her hair falling down to frame her face in a halo of fire.

“I don’t care if I’m being fucking _fair_ ,” She tells him, and her voice is utterly dead, “I don’t care, Snape.”

There’s a long, horrible silence, broken only by the dripping of the tap.

Then, finally, Severus yanks his gaze away from Lily. His eyes land on Remus, his mouth twisting into something cruel.

“The Blacks send their regards,” He spits, back to being oily and sibilant. “Don’t forget, Peter. You know where to find me.”

He bangs through the door and strides down the corridor, shoes making staccato sounds on the hard floor. The three of them stand in silence, listening to him leave.

Remus half turns, just in time to see Lily lift a hand to her mouth. “Lil?”

She bows forward, just a little, and a muffled sob heaves across her shoulders. Remus reaches out on instinct- but, for the first time since he’s known her- she flinches away.

“Please don’t touch me,” She gasps, and a single tear starts inching its way down her pallid cheek, “Please don’t-”

Remus snatches his hand back. Peter looks distraught.

“I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know-”

Remus weighs this information for a quarter of a second, before shelving it. It doesn’t matter. What matters right now is that Lily is starting to cry in earnest, and that if he looks at his own emotions for longer than a heartbeat he thinks he might be sick, and that he is not about to deal with all of this by himself.

“Right,” He mutters, _I need James, I need Sirius_ , “Pete, call James.” He brandishes his phone and Pete accepts it hesitantly. Lily has taken herself back across the room, still crying, folding herself up on a lumpy sofa cushion. “I’ll stay here.”

The idea of leaving Lily with Peter is ludicrous; it has to be him. He doesn’t look back to watch Pete grapple with his protests.

“Wait-” A small hand catches his elbow and Remus bites back his frustration. Peter’s face is round and fearful. “What do I say to him?”

“Tell him Lily needs him.” Remus hesitates only briefly before continuing. “Tell him I need Sirius, too.”

Peter stares at him for a moment, then swallows and nods. “I’ve forgiven you. That was what I wanted to say- I’ve forgiven you.”

Remus looks at him, then passes a hand over his eyes. He can’t find the strength or inclination to point out all the things that are wrong about that statement. All he says is, “Do yourself a favour, and don’t tell Sirius that.”

Peter nods, and heads out into the corridor.

After a moment, Remus steps carefully over to the sink and cranks the tap all the way off, and the room finally falls into silence. Lily is turned towards the wall, her hair spilling over one shoulder. Remus can see tears flooding down her face.

“Lil?” He says, softly, “I’m just going to come and sit on the floor, OK?”

When he gets no response, he moves slowly across the room and kneels down when there’s still three feet between him and the sofa. Lily presses her hands across her eyes. The two of them sit without speaking for a long, long time.

Some part of Remus wants to pace again, or hit something, or maybe lose it himself; the urges seethe beneath an invisible floor in his mind, black and ugly and angry. Above them, he still feels helpless and sick, but he can be strong. He can hold it together, because of all the times Lily held it together for him. She deserves nothing less from him. In the face of that thought, even the tempting, clear blaze of pain seems small and insignificant. He crosses his legs underneath him, and keeps calm.

The door swings open and Lily flinches.

“It’s alright,” Remus tells her, as Peter pokes his head into the room. His own voice sounds alien in his ears. Measured. Reassuring. “It’s just Pete. You’re safe.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Peter has the grace to look a little grey in the face. “James and Sirius are on their way.”

As though on cue, Remus’ phone vibrates.

**Sirius:** coming rn

**Sirius:** prongs freakin out what happened?

**Remus:** easier to explain in person

Reading Sirius’ worry makes the world tilt slightly, threatening to send him sliding.

**Remus:** how far away are you?

**Sirius:** 10 mins

**Remus:** I’ll meet you at the door

He keeps his word. Although he doesn’t particularly want to leave Lily with Peter, he also doesn’t want Peter answering the door to Sirius, so. There is, at least, an obvious priority order to his crises.

“Moony.” Sirius reaches for him before Remus is even halfway through letting them in, and the feel of his arms, however brief, is all the relief Remus needs to carry on for the next foreseeable period.

“Remus,” James is serious, face set and grim, “mate, what happened?”

Remus stares at them. They both look windswept, and Sirius is breathing hard; they must have run for at least part of the way. His stomach twists.

But this is for Lily. So he can bring himself to explain.

“Peter brought this- this guy, with him. Said he was some kind of mediator, but Lily recognised him.” Remus pulls a hand through his hair almost without thought, as though trying to settle the memories of the conflict into a more comfortable position. “I don’t know what happened between them, but it was… Bad. She’s really bad.”

His eyes track to Sirius, seeing the worry for someone else lining his face and loathing to add to it. He hesitates, but just stands aside. Maybe it’s cowardly to put it off, but he has been through a lot today. And yesterday. In fact, when is he not going through a lot?

Sirius’ touch, slightly cool from the chilly air outside, brings him back to himself.

“What do you think she needs?” James asks. He’s antsy, the long lines of his body drawn tight, his black curls in disarray.

Remus shrugs, squeezing Sirius’ hand. “She asked not to be touched. I think she just needs us to be there. Be patient, maybe.”

James nods, squaring his shoulders. Remus lets him go ahead. Dread is weighing down his tongue, pressing on his throat. When he doesn’t move, Sirius looks at him, a question already framed in his expression. In the communal hallway, it’s quiet and washed-out, and Remus idly wonders if he could just stay here for a while. Then he pulls himself together.

_Start with the most obvious._

“Peter’s inside,” Remus begins, “and I need you to leave it alone. Please.”

Sirius’ jaw tightens, but after a moment he nods. Remus swallows, feeling a little more able to breathe.

“Thank you. I wouldn’t- I wouldn’t ask, any other time, but-”

The distance between them disappears as Sirius steps closer, staring intently up at Remus’ face. After a moment, his scrutiny breaks; he holds Remus’ hand tighter.

“There’s something else, isn’t there?”

Remus gapes for a moment. Then he shakes his head, almost relieved, but mostly incredulous. “How the fuck did you know?”

A ghost of a grin tugs at Sirius’ mouth. “I spend a lot of time looking at you, Moony. Or have you not noticed?”

The icy rime ringing Remus’ heart abruptly starts to thaw. He shakes his head again, and maybe he hasn’t entirely forgotten how to smile.

Then he abruptly sobers up again, because he still has to fucking tell him.

“The creep Peter brought with him-” He’s being careful with his words, trying to find a way to soften them beyond ‘ _a stranger came into my house and threatened our future’_ , “- he knew who I was, too. More than what Pete would have told him. It felt like he knew about us. About you. Specifically.”

It’s a good thing Remus is already shattered beyond repair, because the sight of Sirius’ face closing up at his words would probably have been enough to break him in two.

“What was his name?” Sirius asks, deceptively calm, and Remus has to fumble with his brain for a moment before he remembers.

“Severus Snape.”

Sirius’ lip curls. “Greasy hair, looks like an undead accountant?”

“You know him?” Remus can no longer keep up. It’s too much, far too much. Particularly given that Sirius is now _smiling_.

“Bella’s pet Rottweiler. Prick is too kind a term for him.”

_The Blacks send their regards_. Sense is beginning to form out of some of the wreckage of the morning.

“He knows your cousin?” Remus says, slowly.

“Yeah.” Sirius snorts. There’s still a bitter twist to his mouth, as though the truths he’s imparting are particularly unpalatable, but he is entirely removed from the total shut down Remus had expected. “My Nazi cousin. Sounds like a fucking TV show.”

Remus stares at him some more, and Sirius makes an _oh_ expression. “It’s fine, Moony. Dear Bella thrives on chaos. She’s fucking delighted to have an axe to dangle over my head, of course, but she won’t actually do anything. Not unless it benefits her, and she has larger lambs to slaughter.”

“Oh.” Remus rubs his free hand over his forehead. “That still doesn’t explain how he knew Lily.”

Sirius’ grimace returns. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that, darling. I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

Remus abruptly feels like crying. Instead, though, he just gives Sirius a clumsy hug, breathing in the faint scent of paint and fresh air on his jacket as though it’s an anaesthetic. Sirius gently rubs his back.

“Come on then. Let’s go and help Boadicea in her hour of need.”

Remus gives a weak smile. “Barbarian reinforcements, reporting for duty.”

Sirius sniggers. “Barbarians is the right fucking word for it.”

And they finally push inside flat two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now for a bit more of an in-depth update: I passed my resit, had an existential crisis, started a new job, found a new social scene and I'm getting up at 5:30 every morning to do something I love. It's been intense. And my writing has really suffered. I hope you guys can forgive me the long absences (question: would you like it if I stick 'ON HIATUS' in the description in between updates? Because I can do that) and that this chapter goes some way to satisfying that horrible cliff I left you hanging on all those months ago. I was going to make this longer, but actually I like it this length and it's time you guys got something back!  
> Hit me up with questions, comments, flailing, SNAPE HATE I THINK WE CAN ALL GET BEHIND THAT IN THIS STORY and feedback <3


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to fill up the notes with where I've been and what's going on but decided there wasn't space, so skip to the end of the chapter for that info <3

On the morning of his birthday, Remus Lupin wakes up slowly. His mind uncurls, stretching, tangling a little at the edges of his brain like a sheet not shaken all the way out. He allows this to be. The room is still dark, the sun, with all of its grudging springtime fervour, not yet risen. A subtle scent fills his nose: laundry powder, turpentine, Sirius. _Sirius_.

Remus’s heart, so often a frantic, startled thing, simply stirs- tugging gently, turning softly. He is still not quite used to this. It perplexes him, to be so sublimely unconcerned; but it’s still too early in the morning to be puzzling over anything, much less ridiculously complicated subjects such as feelings. He heaves a sleepy sigh, shifts on his pillows, and drapes a warm arm around the slumbering mass beside him in the bed.

By degrees, he falls back to sleep.

~~~

He dreams of a white-walled room, bright with an undefinable light-source, peacefully empty. In his dream, he walks inside and closes the door behind him. He is wearing no coat, no gloves. He carries no umbrella. His chest is bare. He has dreamed this dream so many times over the past month that he knows what will happen next, is no longer remotely alarmed by it. Right on cue, his ribcage swings open as though on smoothly invisible hinges. Impossibly, he can see his own heart beating, his own lungs breathing. He never notices any scars.

Without prompting, substance surges forth from him. It is massless, colourless, yet somehow not invisible. It tears through him with the source of a tidal wave. It wrings him out, pushes him to his knees. Yet still he is not afraid. There is only the room, and his calmness.

He wakes, and finds he is still calm.

~~~

Remus does not believe in miracles. He does not believe that sorrow guides people to their better selves, or that suffering strengthens the soul. And yet, somehow, the day that Lily had thrown Severus out of their flat had changed something, somewhere inside him. Even now, he could not say what it was. He only knew that as he held her tightly (when at last her anguish had retreated enough that she could stand to be touched) it was as though a switch had at last clicked into place in his brain. He did not know why it had happened then. Perhaps it was the realisation that he was neither perfectly good nor perfectly brave; only that he was _enough_. Perhaps he had finally seen what Sirius had claimed to see all along, although what this was Remus found to be quite intangible and indescribable. Perhaps, as Lily later suggested, he had been confronted with an actually awful specimen of humanity, and had finally realised that he was definitely doing better than a passing grade in that regard. Maybe it was all of those things. All he knew was that clarity had come to him, there on the kitchen floor. He was _more_.

The next day, he had walked up to the reception desk at student services and stumbled through a request to see a counsellor. The woman had not laughed at his pathetic delivery. The counsellor had not laughed at him, either, nor had she politely smiled and shown him the door. She had listened. Not once had she uttered anything along the lines of “Is that _all_?”. At her request, he had begun to do some exercises: haltingly at first, like a child learning to pedal a bike without stabilisers, but gradually gaining in confidence. He tracked his mood, he began to sleep a little better. One day, the first week in March, he woke up for the first time in a very long time feeling ready to start the waking day.

Sirius, at first, had found this all deeply disorientating. Remus would sometimes catch him staring at him with a confused, lost expression on his face, as though uncertain where his defenceless, reserved boyfriend had disappeared to. On the occasions when Remus lost his temper, or retreated back into the familiar darkness of a blank depressive spiral, he flew into action, as though finally a situation had returned in which he could be capable and loving. It had taken a stern conversation from both Lily and James, followed by several sobbing arguments at three in the morning, to shift his perspective.

_“But if you’ve got your shit together, how can you possibly want me?”_ Sirius had howled. It was at that point that Remus asked him to go to counselling himself. The world had still felt like it was collapsing in on him, but he hadn’t cut, he hadn’t frozen or shut down. And Sirius, after a day or so of sulking, had agreed.

It had changed him too, even though he had barely been going for two weeks. His emotions, always so near the surface, seemed on an even shorter fuse than normal- but he was quicker to apologise, too, and somehow his happiness seemed a little more true, a little more than skin deep. _“It will take time, they keep telling me,”_ he had sighed, and Remus had laughed. _“They keep saying that to me, too.”_

For the first time since Remus had known Sirius, he had begun to believe that they really did have time. Sirius had always seemed so untouchable to him, so remote and unknowable even as he promised love and affection and whispered kisses in the dark. Remus had burned for that passion, but he had still flinched at its searing touch. Instinctively, he had known that it was too good to last. But now…

Now they were waking up together, slow and steady, unbothered by looming worries about their future or invisible monsters lurking out of sight. A weight that had pressed down upon them both, forcing them apart, was slowly lifting. When he looked at Sirius now, Remus felt that giddy, almost sickening leap of his heart less and less. In its place was something warmer, easier to take. The storm that he had both gloried in and feared was blowing itself out. He supposed that now, they would just have- well, the weather. Not eternal sunshine, not an immortality of kissing in the rain. Just some days that were cloudy, and some days that were bright and endless and beautiful, stretching out before him like a summer sky.

As he wakes on his birthday, he knows that it’s that final kind of day, dawning gradually over the windowsill. A day of sunshine.

They were staying in Sirius’s flat, which was becoming an ever more regular occurrence. Ever since their disastrous attempt to reconcile with Peter, Remus had tried to avoid being at home as much as possible- not that the flat was much like home any more. Lily felt the same way too. She was now being escorted through her daily activities by a shifting, loyal, madcap posse of friends and acquaintances assembled on the spot by James and Sirius. This seemed to frustrate and amuse her in equal measure. “I’m not a baby,” she had snapped, after James, Marlene and someone named Dorcas had accompanied her and Remus on the five minute walk between their lectures, but none of them would relent. Remus later found out why from Sirius: one of their friends had been stalked in high school. It had not ended well. After hearing that, he had managed to convince Lily that they could at least use toxic masculinity to their advantage and convince Snape that she was surrounded at all times by a pack of males who would not tolerate infringement on their territory. Plus Marlene would kick his arse.

Snape had not been seen since. Sirius had offered to use his contacts with his cousin to track down the slimeball, but Lily told him not to bother. They- well, Remus, at least- felt uneasy about it, but what could he do? It was certainly her choice to make. He chews over the worry in his free moments, though, an unattributed trepidation flooding through him. It’s as though there’s a snake in the room, hissing, and he can hear it; but not see where it is.

Right now, though, he can’t simply can’t be bothered to worry. He’s awake again, and his boyfriend is stirring next to him, and it’s his birthday. Sirius’ smile as he turns over and leans in to kiss him, promises that he will be _far_ too distracted to think of anything else for at least another hour.

~

They hear the front door open a while later. Sirius groans.

“That was your phone buzzing, wasn’t it.”

Remus, hazy, makes a noise that’s somewhere between a mumble and a maybe. Below, feet start climbing the stairs.

“ _Phone_.” Sirius flicks Remus hard in the ribs.

He left it charging on Sirius’ desk: he has to half-leave the bed to catch hold of it. Lily’s messages blink up from the screen.

**HPAPY BIRTHDAY MORON**

**HAPPY**

**IT’S YOUR BIRTHDAY**

**YOU OLD**

**SO OLD**

**We’re coming to surprise you**

**Oh fuck it’s not a surprise anymore is it**

**I don’t care we’re around the corner from you now!!!!**

Remus drops his free hand over his eyes. “Uh oh.” As if on cue, the sound of a key being fitted into Sirius’ front door filters into the bedroom.

“Prongs always had an exquisite sense of timing,” Sirius mumbles, then squirms to look in the general direction of the door and bellows, “We’re not decent!”

At least Remus already has his face covered by his hand. It does make the urge both to hide and giggle hysterically slightly more difficult to satisfy, however.

“Since when have you ever been decent, Padfoot?” James replies cheerfully. “And it doesn’t matter, we’re only here for Remus.”

“So am I!” Sirius tosses his hair indignantly, apparently forgetting that Remus is his only audience. “Now go away and let me ravish him.”

Remus did not know that it was, in fact, possible to blush even deeper than he already was. He releases some of his pent-up feelings by pushing Sirius out of bed. Yelping, stark naked and gloriously tousle-haired, Sirius glares back at him. “I hate you.”

Remus ignores this. “No more ravishing.” His voice remains remarkably steady. “It’s already-” he checks the time, “- eleven.”

Sirius pouts.

“ _And_ ,” Remus raises his voice threateningly, “it’s my birthday. My word is law.”

Lily bangs on the door. “Hurry up! We’ve brought birthday cake, you ingrates.”

Sirius rolls his eyes dramatically. “ _Fine_. Get up, Moony, and get in the shower before I change my mind.”

~

The birthday cake has to be the ugliest thing Remus has ever seen in his life. Slathered in uneven buttercream the colour of eggshells, it slumps on the plate Sirius has hastily washed, sloping drunkenly off to one side with a handful of mismatched candles shoved in the top. The flickering light from the twenty or so flames gutters unconvincingly. James and Lily sing horribly out of tune. Remus takes it all in and feels such a rush of affection for them all that he has to sit down.

“First slice for Remus!” Lily crows, as their screeching chorus of Happy Birthday comes to a close.

“Yeah,” James mutters in an undertone, “let’s poison _him_ first.”

“It will not poison you. It was lovingly cooked by my own fair hands, so eat up.” Lily smiles gleefully at him, ignoring James’ dubious look. Remus, feeling it would be ungracious to refuse, gamely takes up a knife and carves out a modest slice. He chews for a moment, in silence.

“It’s actually not so bad,” he admits. “Could use a little more flair in the presentation, though.”

“Hah!”

James groans. “ _Why_ must you encourage her. Why.”

As Lily and James break off into a familiar spat, Sirius leans in close and steals a crumbling chunk of birthday cake. “Happy birthday, darling one.”

And Remus, who is normally too shy or too unsure to do anything so brazen, leans forward and kisses him right there and then, feeling the flecks of crumbs on his lips; his heart, usually so fragile and tempestuous, for once is nothing more than light.

~~~~

We interrupt your usual programming for a monologue from the author.

Hello, all. I hardly know where to begin. I last updated this story in October of last year, nearly ten months ago. Reading back through the chapter notes from that time is like reading something out of another person's life, and that thought, while sad in its way, also makes me so incredibly happy. I suppose I'll try and start at the beginning, and explain why I've been M.I.A. from this story for so long.

The most essential part of my absence has not been a lack of motivation to write. Although I've been pressed for time these past months, I was snatching moments wherever I could to write: I must have filled four or five notebooks with scribblings of every description. What I haven't been doing is typing it up, and what I also haven't been doing is writing this story: the most important story, the one that truly got me into fandom and made me believe that I have something worth sharing. Why not? Well, the simple truth is that I wrote this story when I was sad. And now I'm not sad anymore.

I started this story when I, like Remus, was in my second year of university. And I, like Remus, had a parasite living inside me, the black dog, the wolf, depression, whatever you want to call it. That parasite was fucking strong, you guys. I couldn't remember who I was without it. Life was washing over me, and I felt nervous and out of control. I had anxiety attacks in bathrooms all over the shop. And the only thing about that parasite that seemed bearable was that it filled me up with words. I was brimming with them, spilling over, shooting messy words in scrawls over the margins of my notes and the back of my timetable. I had always known there were stories inside me, but this was the first time I couldn't contain them. And this story, Be my time-bomb lover, was the shape they fell into. I clung to it because it was something, you know? It was something to let it out, and then it was something else to know other people were reading it, enjoying it, telling me that they were there too, that they knew what I was feeling. At the time, I almost kept it a secret from myself, but I was so like Remus. I felt unbearably alone, but I was trying, and if he didn't give up then neither could I.

Spoilers: there was no giving up. This past winter, this past year, I finally figured out how to starve that parasite in my brain. I went out and met strangers, I read and read rather than wrote and wrote, I started projects and discarded them with a wonderful kind of recklessness. Gradually, things came back into my control. I did a lot of crying. I did a little bit of therapy. I opened my eyes and I changed.

I fell in love. I fell in love with the vast expanse of ever-changing events that is my life, and I also fell in love with a truly wonderful human being. I didn't know that the kind of love in stories could really exist; he showed me that it does, and shows me every day. I am so lucky, and so happy.

So, although I had a sad chapter planned (and another one after that, and maybe another after that...) I found that I simply couldn't make it work. The words that flooded my heart and tried to drown me have dried up. I don't know how you, my amazing readers, will feel about that- if any of you are still even here! But I had to be honest with myself, and the kind of work I could create. This story has been both catharsis and solace for me, and I am so honoured to share that with you.

I will be catching up with the frankly appalling backlog of comments I have left myself over the next few days. If you are still reading this far, then thank you <3 I don't know what else I have planned for this story yet- I suspect it will take a little time to distill in my brain- but I am fairly sure it isn't quite over yet. 

Once again, thank you <3


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